Constance was not impervious to feminine reason, and here she was.
"Has Miss Larue gone?" she asked when at last she was seated in a comfortable chair again sipping a little aromatic cup of coffee.
"No, she's resting in one of the little dressing rooms."
She followed Floretta down the corridor. Each little compartment had its neat, plain white enameled bed, a dresser and a chair.
Stella smiled as Constance entered. "Yes," she murmured in response to the greeting, "I feel quite myself now."
"Mr. Warrington on the wire," announced Floretta a moment later, coming down the corridor again with a telephone on a long unwinding wire.
"Hello, Alfred—oh, rocky this morning," Constance overheard. "I said to myself, 'Never again—until the next time. Vera? Oh, she was as fresh as a lark. Can I lunch with you downtown? Of course.'" Then as she hung up the receiver she called, "Floretta, get me a taxi."
"Yes, Miss Larue."
"I always have a feeling here," whispered Stella, "that I am being listened to. I mean to speak to Vera about it some time. By the way, wouldn't you like to join us to-night? Vera will be along and Mr. Warrington and perhaps 'Diamond Jack' Braden—you know him?"
Constance confessed frankly that she did not have the pleasure of the acquaintance of the well-known turfman and first nighter.