“Good.  I knew you would,” said her mysterious questioner, turning on his heel and vanishing speedily as if afraid to give her an opportunity of reconsidering.

Puzzled beyond measure not only at the man’s strange conduct but even more at her own compliance with his request, Jane made her way slowly and thoughtfully to the Ritz, where she found her mother and Mrs. Starrett had already arrived.

As they sipped their tea the two elder women chatted complacently about the matinee, about their acquaintances, about other women in the tea-room and the gowns they had on, about bridge hands—­the usual small talk of afternoon tea.

To Jane, oppressed with her two secrets, all at once their conversation seemed the dreariest piffle.  Great things were happening everywhere in the world, nations at war, men fighting and dying in the trenches of horror for the sake of an ideal, kings were being overthrown, dynasties tottering, boundaries of nations vanishing.  Women, she realized, too, more than ever in history, were taking an active and important part in world affairs.  In the lands of battle they were nursing the wounded, driving ambulances, helping to rehabilitate wrecked villages.  In the lands where peace still reigned they were voting, speech-making, holding jobs, running offices, many of them were uniting to aid in movements for civic improvement, for better children, for the improvement of the whole human race.

And here they were—­here she was, idling uselessly at the Ritz as she had done yesterday, last week, last month—­forever, it seemed to her.  The vague protest that for some time had been growing within her against the senselessness and futility of her manner of existence crystallized itself now into a determination no longer to submit to it.  Courageously she was resolving that she would take the first opportunity to escape from this boresome routine of pleasure-seeking.  She was wondering if the request that had been so unexpectedly made of her would prove to be her way out from her prison of desuetude.

The talk of the two women with her drifted aimlessly on.  Seldom was she included in it, save when her mother, nodding to some one she knew, would turn to say: 

“Daughter, there is Mrs. Jones-Lloyd.”

What did she care about Mrs. Jones-Lloyd?  What did she care about any of the people about them, aimless, pleasure-hunting drifters like themselves.  Left to her own devices for mental activity her thoughts kept recurring to the surprising adventure she had had a few minutes before.  Thoughtfully she pondered over the mysterious message that had been given to her.  The man had said that it was a wonderful opportunity for her to do her country a great service.  She wondered why he had been so secretive about it.  She decided that she would investigate further and made up her mind to carry out his instructions.  What harm could befall her in visiting an office building in the business district?  At least it would be something to do, something new, something different, something surely exciting and, perhaps, something useful.