As the man fumbled in an inner pocket for change, the lad took a swift inventory. The face, beneath the tall hat, was a powerful oval, paste-coloured, with thin lips, and heavy lines from nostril to jaw. The eyes were close-set and of a turbid grey. "It's him," the boy assured himself, and opened his mouth to speak. "So you are a sporting man," the girl rallied him gaily, adjusting the flowers. The boy nodded, responding instantly to her mood. "Only," he swept her with shrewd, appraising eyes, that noted every detail of her delicate beauty and sumptuousness, "I don't trot in the two-minute class myself." The girl laughed a clear silvery peal, and turned impulsively to the young man in evening dress who had just dismissed his hansom and joined the group. 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?" "Don't I wish _you_ were?" Cord Van Ingen looked across at her with smiling significant eyes, which brought a flush to her cheeks. "No," he said softly, "I do not!" The girl laughed at him and shrugged her round white shoulders. "For a young diplomat, Cord, you are too obvious--too delightfully verdant. You should study indirection, subtlety, finesse--study Poltavo!" At the name the boy's brow darkened. "Study the devil!" he muttered under his breath. "That too, for a diplomat, is necessary!" she murmured sweetly. "He isn't coming here to-night?" Van Ingen asked in aggrieved tones. The girl nodded, her eyes dancing with laughter. "What you can see in that man, Doris," he protested, "passes me! I'll bet you anything you like that the fellow's a rogue! A smooth, soft-smiling rascal! Lady Dinsmore," he appealed to the older woman, "do you like him?" "Oh, don't ask Aunt Patricia!" cried the girl. "She thinks him quite the most fascinating man in London. Don't deny it, auntie!"