world like a heroine of melodrama. Do you know Teddy?" "Yes," he answered slowly, "I do." He refrained with difficulty from voicing his opinion of the man, which he could have put into three words--"the little beast." But how did it happen that she, of all women, had been thrown into contact with this pale-faced Don Juan of the New York music-halls and Paris cafes? "I lent Marie, my maid, one of my new hats and a heavy veil," she went on. "She came out and stepped into a taxi, with instructions to keep driving in a circle of a mile. Teddy followed in another machine. And"--she paused to look up and smile--"for all I know, he may still be following her round and round. I came on to the opera." "Kind of tough on Marie," he commented, with his blue eyes reflecting a hearty relish of the situation. "Marie will undoubtedly enjoy a nap," she said. "As for Teddy--well, he is generally out of funds, so I hope he may get into difficulties with the driver." "He won't," declared Monte. "He'll probably end by borrowing a _pour-boire_ of the driver." She nodded. "That is possible. He is very clever." "The fact that he is still out of jail--" began Monte. Then he checked himself. He was not a man to talk about other men--even about one so little of a man as Teddy Hamilton. "Tell me what you know of him," she requested. "I'd rather not," he answered. "Is he as bad as that?" she queried thoughtfully. "But what I don't understand is why--why, then, he can sing like a white-robed choir-boy." Monte looked serious. "I've heard him," he admitted. "But it was generally after he had been sipping absinthe rather heavily. His specialty is 'The Rosary.'" "And the barcarole from the 'Contes d'Hoffmann.'" "And little Spanish serenades," he added. "But if he's all bad inside?"