no place for an innocent child," and she looked about, her lip curling.
"Lord, I should say not. Do you happen to remember any New York
contractor by that name, Mr. Enright?"

The rotund lawyer, his feet elevated on the window-sill, a cigar between
his lips, shook his head in emphatic dissent.

"Not lately; there was a Tim Donovan who had a pull in the subway
excavation--he was a Tammany man--but he died, and was never married.
There may have been others, of course, but I had tab on most of them.
Did she mention his name, Beaton?"

"No; anyhow, I don't remember."

"What's the girl look like?"

"Rather slender, with brown hair, sorter coppery in the sun, and grey
eyes that grow dark when she's interested. About twenty-three or four, I
should say. She's a good-looker, all right; and not a bit stuck up."

"Did you get her full name?"

"Sure; it's on the register--Stella Donovan."

Enright lowered his feet to the floor, a puzzled look un his face, his
teeth clinched on his cigar.

"Hold on a bit till I think." he muttered. "That sounds mighty
familiar--Stella Donovan! My God, I've heard that name before somewhere;
ah, I have it--she's on the New York _Star_. I've seen her name signed