Constance nodded, and the woman held out her hand frankly.

“Very glad to meet you,” she said.  “My husband, Jim, is not at home, but we are a very happy little family up here.  Why, Kitty, what is the matter?”

The girl had turned her face down in the sofa pillows and was sobbing again.  Between sobs she blurted out the whole of the sordid story.  And as she proceeded, Annie glanced quickly from her to Constance, for confirmation.

Suddenly she rose and extended her hand to Constance.

“Mrs. Dunlap,” she said, “how can I ever thank you for what you have done for Kitty?  She is almost like a sister to me.  You—­you were—­ too good.”

There was a little catch in the woman’s voice.  But Constance could not quite make out whether it was acted or wholly genuine.

“Did she ever do anything like that before?” she asked.

“Only once,” replied Annie Grayson, “and then I gave her such a talking to that I thought she would be able to restrain herself when she felt that way again.”

It was growing late and Constance recollected that she had an engagement for the evening.  As she rose to go Kitty almost overwhelmed her with embraces.

“I’ll keep in touch with Kitty,” whispered Constance at the door, “and if you will let me know when anything comes up that I may help her in, I shall thank you.”

“Depend on me,” answered Mrs. Grayson, “and I want to add my thanks to Kitty’s for what you have done.  I’ll try to help you.”

As she groped her way down the as yet unlighted stairs, Constance became aware of two men talking in the hall.  As she passed them she thought she recognized one of the voices.  She lowered her head, and fortunately her thin veil in the half-light did the rest.  She passed unnoticed and reached the door of the apartment.

As she opened it she heard the men turn and mount the stairs.  Instinctively she realized that something was wrong.  One of the men was her old enemy, Drummond, the detective.

They had not recognized her, and as she stood for a moment with her hand on the knob, she tried to reason it out.  Then she crept back, and climbed the stairs noiselessly.  Voices inside the apartment told her that she had not been mistaken.  It was the apartment of the Graysons and Kitty that they sought.

The hall door was of thin, light wood, and as she stood there she could easily hear what passed inside.

“What—­is Kitty ill?” she heard the strange man’s voice inquire.

“Yes,” replied Mrs. Grayson, then her voice trailed off into an indistinguishable whisper.

“How are you, Kitty?” asked the man.

“Oh, I have a splitting headache, Jim.  I’ve had it all day.  I could just get up and—­screech!”

“I’m sorry.  I hope it gets better soon.”

“Oh, I guess it will.  They often go away as suddenly as they come.  You know I’ve had them before.”