"No. If I get into the taxi, I'll not get out. Send it away."
When they were moving afoot up Madison Avenue, he said: "What's the matter? This isn't like you."
"I've come to my senses," replied she. "It may be too late, but I'm going to see."
"When I called on Mrs. Brindley the other day," said he, "she had your note, saying that you were going into musical comedy with Crossley."
"That's over," said she. "I lost my voice, and I lost my job."
"So I heard," said he. "I know Crossley. I dropped in to see him this morning, and he told me about a foolish, fashionable girl who made a bluff at going on the stage—he said she had a good voice and was a swell looker, but proved to be a regular 'four-flusher.' I recognized you."
"Thanks," said she dryly.
"So, I came to see you."
She inquired about Mrs. Brindley and then about Stanley Baird. Finding that he was in Italy, she inquired: "Do you happen to know his address?"
"I'll get it and send it to you. He has taken a house at Monte Carlo for the winter."