As they entered the comfortable, brightly lit club the strains of a band came pleasantly to their ears, and in a minute they were installed at a corner table in the splendid room devoted to the most cheery of all gatherings--a Bohemian meal when the labors of the night are past. Bruce soon marked his quarry. Jane Harding was in great form--eating, drinking, and talking at the same time. "Who is that, Billy?" he said, indicating the girl. Sadler carefully balanced his _pince-nez_ on his well-defined nose, gazed, and laughed: "Goodness knows. She's a new-comer, and not much at the best. Do you know where she carries a banner?" "At the Jollity." "Oh! then here's our man"--for a Mephistophelian gentleman was passing at the moment. "Say, Rosenheim, who's the new coryphée over there?" Mephistopheles halted, looked at Jane and laughed, too. "Her name is Miss Marie le Marchant; but as she happened to be born in London she pronounces it Mahrie Lee Mahshuns, with the accent on the 'Mahs.' Anything else you would like to know?" "Yes, I'm stuck on her! Where did you pick her up?" "She's a housemaid, or something of the sort. Came into money. Wants to knock 'em on the stige. The rest is easy." "Has she been with you long?" put in Claude, as their informant was the under-manager of the Jollity. Mr. Rosenheim glanced at him. Sadler, he knew, had no interest in the girl, and the barrister did not quite possess the juvenile appearance that warranted such solicitude. "She joined us just before Christmas. What's up? Is she really worth a lot of 'oof?" "I should imagine not," laughed Bruce; and Mr. Rosenheim joined another group. Supper ended, Marie and Millie, and eke Flossie, attended by their swains, discussed coffee and cognac in the _foyer_. Chance separated Miss le Marchant, as she may now be known, momentarily from the others, and Bruce darted forward. "Good-evening," he said. "I am delighted to meet you here." The girl recognized him instantly. She would have denied her identity, but her nerve failed her before those steadfast, penetrating eyes. Moreover, it was not an ill thing for such a well-bred, well-dressed man to acknowledge her so openly. "Good-evening, Mr. Bruce," she said, with a smile of assurance, though her voice faltered a little. He resolved to make the situation easy. "We have not met for such a long time," he said; "and I am simply dying to have a talk with you. I am sure your friends will pardon me if I carry you off for five minutes to a quiet corner." With a simper, Miss le Marchant took his proffered arm, and they went off to an unoccupied table. "Now, Jane Harding," said he, with some degree of sternness in his manner, "be good enough to explain to me why you are passing under a false name, and the reasons which led you to leave Sir Charles Dyke's house in such a particularly disagreeable way." "Disagreeable? I only left in a hurry. Who had any right to stop me?"