It was the diversion the boy had prayed for. He took a quick step toward the older man.
"N.," he said in a soft but distinct undertone.
The man's face blanched suddenly, and a coin which he held in his large, white-gloved palm, slipped jingling to the pavement.
The young messenger stooped and caught it up dextrously.
"N.," he whispered again, insistently.
"H.," the answer came hoarsely. The man's lips trembled.
"C.," finished the boy promptly and with satisfaction. Under cover of returning the coin, he thrust a slip of white paper into the other's hand.
Then he wheeled, ducked to the girl with a gay little swagger of impudence, threw a lightning glance of scrutiny at her young escort, and turning, was lost in the throng.
The whole incident occupied less than a minute, and presently the four were seated in their box, and the throbbing strains from the overture of I Pagliacci came floating up to them.
"I wish I were a little street gamin in London," said the girl pensively, fingering the violets at her corsage. "Think of the adventures! Don't you, Cord?"