two previous ones had been anonymous, but tonight her curiosity--roused
to a high pitch, or he knew nothing of women--would be satisfied. She
would not only know who her unknown admirer was, but she would see him
sitting in stately solitude in the right-hand box.

She had been a great surprise. Where he had expected to find an
overblown, coarse woman with the strident voice of the music hall and its
banal vulgarities, he had seen a girl, young, spontaneous, full of a
sparkling charm. He had heard enough singing to know that her voice,
fresh and untrained, had promise, and that the spirited dash of her
performance indicated no common gifts. Under any circumstances she would
have interested him; how much more so now when he knew of her affiliation
with a notorious outlaw! She was evidently a potent personality, lawless
and daring. The situation appealed to his slyly malign humor, she
confidently secure, he completely informed. It was a fitting sequel to
the picaresque adventure and he anticipated much entertainment from
meeting her, saw himself, with stealthy adroitness, worming his way
toward her guilty secrets.

A florist's window, a bower of blossoms under the gush of electric
lights, attracted him and he turned into the shop. The proprietor came
forward, ingratiatingly polite, his welcoming words revealing white teeth
and a foreign accent.

The gentleman wanted a large sheaf bouquet in two colors, red and
orange--certainly, and a Gallic wave of the hand indicated a marble slab
where flowers were ranged in funnel-shaped green vases. Looking over
them, the gentleman lapsed into a French so perfect that the florist
suggested Monsieur was of that nation, also his own. Monsieur neither
admitted nor denied the charge, occupied over the flowers. He was very