There was the young lady who had been talking so flippantly to the woman with a grievance, and she was now talking, of all people, to Drummond! Constance shrank back into her wicker chair in the protecting angle.
What did it mean?
If Drummond had anything to do with it, even remotely, it boded no good, at least.
Suddenly a possible explanation crossed her mind.

Was it a side-light upon that peculiar industry of divorce as practiced in no place except New York?
It was not only that Constance longed for, lived by excitement.

She felt a sense of curiosity as to what the detective was up to now.

And, somehow, she felt a duty in the case.

She determined to return the envelope and card, and meet the woman.