“Oh, no,” she drawled, as the car started with them. “Not at all! But you see, he wanted to push the contract.” “What do you mean?” “Ned asked me yesterday to marry him. It would be a convenient arrangement, you know; he could write the plays and I make ’em famous!” “Don’t put it that way!” Brainard protested quickly. “He’s the best of fellows, and I know that he cares for you.” “It won’t hurt him, I reckon. Clever boy—my, how big his head will be after to-night, though!” The young actress yawned, and snuggled under the fur robe. “How about yours?” “I’m just happy. You see, I was right. The play is going to be a great money-maker.” “It certainly looks that way to-night That means that we shall be able to keep the theater open till the end of the season, and close with the band playing. For all of which we have to thank you!” “And your clever secretary! Tell me, have you heard anything more about the case?” “The lawyers telephoned me late this afternoon that the judge had given his decree—in _their_ favor.” Her hand stole across to his under the robe. “Of course, we appeal,” Brainard went on; “but they’ve got a strong case. Fraud, of course, but we can’t prove it.” “Why not? Tell me more about the case. I’ve been meaning to ask you all along; but this play has filled every corner of my little head. Now I can think of something else. Come on upstairs. I don’t feel the least bit sleepy, and you can tell me all about your case—why they won when it’s a fraud.” “That’s simple enough,” Brainard began, when they had seated themselves in the actress’s tiny parlor. “This man Krutzmacht, it seems, had married his stenographer out there in San Francisco. At least, she’s got a perfectly good certificate.” “But how could he have really married her, if he was already married?” “You mean if he was already married to the lost Melody’s mother? But _was_ he married to her mother? We can’t find any record of it. Nobody knows, unless we could find Melody herself, and I have given up all hope of that. Krutzmacht might have deceived her, too, you know.” “Why, of course he _was_ married to Melody’s mother—and wasn’t divorced, either!” “What do you know of it?” “Stupid!” she said gently, rising and putting her hands on his shoulders. “Can’t you see that—I am Melody—yes, the real Melody!” “Louisiana—” “Name of my mother’s State. I made up Delacourt for the stage. Louisiana Delacourt was to be my stage name but Cordelia spoiled it.” She laughed at his astonishment. “And you are Melody Krutzmacht?” “Lord, no! Melody White. Krutzmacht wasn’t any father of mine, thank goodness!” “And your mother?” “Was Mrs. Della White—legally married to Herbert Krutzmacht in the American consulate at Guatemala City. He met mama down there, and married her, when I was a child, and adopted me, too. I’ve got everything necessary to prove what I say. So you just telegraph that judge to hold his horses and get ready to write another decree!”