Little Dolly, always at the bottom a pretty level-headed creature, had become wonderfully patient in the past month. Patient with a determination fixed as a star, as a law of Nature; a determination which was stronger far than herself; which was outside herself; which she could feel, almost, a huge pressure behind her, as of great reservoirs filled through trickling aeons; and which astonished her. She had written of it, once, to her aunt. "Dear Dolly," had answered this Darwinian lady; "you are right. It is not of you. It is of all women that have gone before you, of the millions and millions of women who have fought, and plotted, and intrigued in order to keep alive the spark of Life and hand it down to you. It is, Dolly, the Persistence of Woman; the inexorable persistence of Woman, Dolly, holding Man. Holding Man, Dolly, in spite of his superior physical strength, of his superior brutality; holding him through the ages. The terrific persistence of Woman holding Man, Dolly, Man--the restless, the moody, the incomprehensible; the erratic one, ever dissatisfied, ever bounding to the end of his chain in blind surges toward painted things of the air which _we_ know do not exist. "Oh, no; you cannot help it, dear little Dolly. Cling, Dolly, cling!" "That's horrid," Dolly had said, when she had finished this epistle. And then, after a while, but this time with a smile; "how _perfectly_ horrid!" But now, this patience, this persistence, was indeed a precious thing. It enabled her to wait calmly for the turn of chance which would enable her to find Charles-Norton. She read the papers every day. Truth to tell, they promised little help, for by this time they were announcing Charles-Norton simultaneously in New Orleans, Quebec, Key West, and Victoria. Wisely, Dolly had preserved the first clippings. And after all, it was from the papers that was to come the solution. The paper, one morning, after describing appearances of Charles-Norton in Vladivostock, Paris, and Timbuctoo, had slid from her knees to the floor, when her eyes lit upon an advertisement on the up-turned back-page. BISON BILLIAM AND HIS WORLD-RENOWNED WILD-WEST SHOW PERMANENTLY NOW AT THE HIPPODROME NIGHTLY * * * * * HENRIQUE FARMANO, IN HIS AEROPLANE, WILL FLY FIFTY FEET!! "Ooh!" said Dolly, suddenly clapping both her hands to her heart; "ooh, I've got it!" She sat there, a little weak with excitement, while a rosiness came to her cheeks and a light in her eyes. "Yes," she said at length; "yes; that's it!" Upon which she dressed very carefully, put on her hat, and went downtown to the Hippodrome. Once there, she hesitated a moment before the glazed-glass door with its shining brass plate, then knocked like a little mouse. A big bass voice told her to come in.