Her father’s old lawyers knew nothing of her whereabouts; they were rather averse to discussing the Nugent family with anyone. Mr. Nugent had not proved himself to be a distinguished client.

Corkran advertised in more papers, with the same discouraging result. He set his lips tighter, and vowed that Mary was the most obstinate, trying little wretch a man could possibly wish to marry. In the hope of meeting her again by chance he visited dance halls and theatres, naturally with no success.

On one of these hunts Netta Chalmer accompanied him. They went to a first night (Mary had made a hobby of first-nights in the old days), and sat in a box so that Corkran might rake the house with his opera glasses.

“I don’t see how one could expect her to be here,” complained Netta. “I have told you her father’s death left her practically penniless. In fact, I don’t understand how it was that she came to be at the Corinthian. Unless, of course, she was taken.”

“My dear Netta,” answered Bill irritably, “I tell you that Mary was in a most ex-pensive rig.”

“I’d like to know what sort of a judge you are,” said Netta superbly. “She was probably in a black three-year-old hack frock, but, of course, you’d think it a Paris model.”

“It was nothing of the kind. It was a priceless-looking dress, sort of swathed about her, Spanish fashion, with a fringe and quaint-looking red birds over it, like that shawl thing that woman in the fourth row’s wearing. See!”

“Oh, yes, I know the sort of thing you mean. It couldn't have been one of those, though.”

“I tell you it was!” indignantly reiterated Corkran. “And—hallo!”

“What?” Netta followed the direction of his opera-glasses, straining to see what had caught his attention. “What is it? Tell me!”

“I thought it was Mary,” explained Corkran disappointedly. “It isn’t, but—I’ll swear it’s her dress! Here, you take a look! The woman getting into her seat in the sixth—no, the seventh row. Quick!”

Obediently Netta focused the glasses on to Mrs. Mellowe.

“No, it’s not Mary, but what a beautiful shawl! I've never seen one quite like that before. Are you sure it’s Mary’s?”

“Dead sure! I remember the way those red birds were flying about all over it. Hang the curtain going up! I’ll have to wait till the interval.”

“You can’t very well go and ask her where she got the shawl,” whispered Netta, giggling.

“Can’t I!” he retorted.

As soon as the interval came Corkran left the box. With a beating heart Netta watched him appear downstairs and make his way towards Mrs. Mellowe. Netta saw him smile and bow to Mrs. Mellowe. Through the glasses she observed Mrs. Mellowe’s startled and puzzled frown. The man who was with her seemed to be amused; he gave up his seat to Bill and went outside, presumably to smoke. Bill entered deep into conversation with Mrs. Mellowe. To her relief Netta saw that lady laugh and nod. Evidently the two were hatching some plot, for Bill did not return to his box until the curtain was rising on the second act.