There was something in the purring tone of the invitation of the
woman across the hall from Constance Dunlap's apartment that aroused
her curiosity.

"Thank you. I believe I will," answered Constance. "It's lonely in a
big city without friends."

"Indeed it is," agreed Bella LeMar. "I've been watching you for some
time and wondering how you stand it. Now be sure to come, won't
you?"

"I shall be glad to do so," assured Constance, as they reached their
floor and parted at the elevator door.

She had been watching the other woman, too, although she had said
nothing about it.

"A friendly little game," repeated Constance to herself. "That
sounds as if it had the tang of an adventure in it. I'll go."

The Mayfair Arms, in which she had taken a modest suite of rooms,
was a rather recherche apartment, and one of her chief delights
since she had been there had been in watching the other occupants.

There had been much to interest her in the menage across the hall.
Mrs. Bella LeMar, as she called herself, was of a type rather common
in the city, an attractive widow on the safe side of forty, well-
groomed, often daringly gowned. Her brown eyes snapped vivacity, and
the pert little nose and racy expression of the mouth confirmed the
general impression that Mrs. LeMar liked the good things of life.