Whatever it was, reasoned Constance, it could not have been serious to have disappeared so quickly.
It was with some curiosity as to just what she might expect that Constance went around to the famous cabaret that night.

The Mayfair occupied two floors of what had been a wide brownstone house before business and pleasure had crowded the residence district further and further uptown.

It was a very well-known bohemian rendezvous, where under-, demi-and upper-world rubbed elbows without friction and seemed to enjoy the novelty and be willing to pay for it.
Adele, who was one of the performers, had not arrived yet, but Constance, who had come with her mind still full of the two unexpected encounters with Drummond, was startled to see him here again.
Fortunately he did not see her, and she slipped unobserved into an angle near the window overlooking the street.
Drummond had been engrossed in watching some one already there, and Constance made the best use she could of her eyes to determine who it was.

The outdoor walk and a good dinner had checked her headache, and now the excitement of the chase of something, she knew not what, completed the cure.
It was not long before she discovered that Drummond was watching intently, without seeming to do so, a nervous-looking fellow whose general washed-out appearance of face was especially unattractive for some reason or other.

He was very thin, very pale, and very stary about the eyes.