Just before the final curtain an usher appeared with a note which Lefty was able to read by the light from the stage. It was hastily scrawled from a near-by club, and in it Charles Collier――explaining that he was still in conference with his business man――requested that Locke escort his daughter home, and then send the car back for him. “It really isn’t a bit necessary,” the girl protested, as she glanced at the paper. “If you’ll find the motor and put me in, I can manage the rest quite well.” “Then why didn’t your father ask me to do just that?” Lefty asked. “Because he’s foolishly silly about my going about at night alone, even in our own machine.” Miss Collier paused an instant, and then dimpled charmingly. “You mustn’t judge him by his behavior to-night. He’s usually annoyingly strict with me. I’m quite sure if you hadn’t happened to be the son of an old college chum I should have been taken home without seeing the play.” The young pitcher laughed. “I’m awfully glad I happened to have the proper credentials, and I think we’d better follow out Mr. Collier’s wishes. Besides, if I take you home it will give us a chance to finish that discussion about Marquard’s work in the box this year.” “Since you put it that way, I’ll give in,” the girl said, as she arose to let him place the opera cloak carefully about her shoulders. Lefty slipped on his coat, secured hat and gloves, and stepped into the aisle. There was the usual crush of people to block the way, and as they moved slowly forward he half turned to make a laughing remark to his companion. The jesting words were never spoken; the very smile froze on the young man’s lips as his eyes fell on the face of a girl in the sixth row over near the boxes. It was Janet Harting, and there was something about her expression which held Lefty stupidly silent for a second or two. Then he bowed eagerly, and smiled. There was absolutely no response. For an appreciable moment Miss Harting stared at him, her chin uptilted, her color a little high, perhaps, but her gaze as coldly impersonal as if he had been an utter stranger. She gazed at him, over him, _through_ him, without the quiver of an eyelash. Then she rose leisurely, deliberately turned her back, and began to help her older companion into a coat. CHAPTER IX “IN BAD” Lefty’s face turned a dull red, for in a flash he had realized how intolerable the whole affair must seem to Janet Harting. He had assured her that his engagement at the theater that night was with some of his teammates, yet here she found him the only escort of a very charming young woman, of whose identity she could naturally have no idea.