red to me to ask whether a married woman was fascinating or not. I
thought she was a friendly woman--talkative, amusing, clever enough."

They lit their cigars in the cool shadow of the great elms: who does not
know how beautiful Kensington Gardens are in June? And yet Macleod did
not seem disposed to be garrulous about these new experiences of his; he
was absorbed, and mostly silent.

"That is an extraordinary fancy she has taken for Gertrude White," Mr.
Ogilvie remarked.

"Why extraordinary?" the other asked, with sudden interest.

"Oh, well, it is unusual, you know. But she is a nice girl enough, and
Mrs. Ross is fond of odd folks. You didn't speak to old White?--his head
is a sort of British Museum of antiquities; but he is of some use to
these people--he is such a swell about old armor, and china, and such
things. They say he wants to be sent out to dig for Dido's funeral pyre
at Carthage, and that he is only waiting to get the trinkets made at
Birmingham."

They walked on a bit in silence.

"I think you made a good impression on Mrs. Ross," said Ogilvie, coolly.
"You'll find her an uncommonly useful woman, if she takes a fancy to
you; for she knows everybody and goes everywhere, though her own house
is too small to entertain properly. By-the-way, Macleod, I don't think
you could have hit on a worse fellow than I to take you about, for I am
so little in London that I have become a rank outsider. But I'll tell
you what I'll do for you if you will go with me to-night to Lord
Beauregard's who is an old friend of mine. I will ask him to introduce
you to some people--and his wife gives very good dances--and if any
royal or imperial swell comes to town, you'll be sure to run against him
there. I forget who it is they are receiving there to-night; but anyhow
you'll meet two or three of the fat duchesses whom Dizzy adores; and I
shouldn't wonder if that Irish girl were there--the new beauty: Lady
Beauregard is very clever at picking people up."

"Will Miss White be there?" Macleod asked, apparently deeply engaged in
probing the end of his cigar.

His companion looked up in surprise. Then a new fancy seemed to occur to
him, and he smiled very slightly.

"Well, no," said he, slowly, "I don't think she will. In fact, I am
almost sure she will be at the Piccadilly Theatre. If you like, we will
give up Lady Beauregard, and after dinner go to the Piccadilly Theatre
instead. How will that do?"

"I think that will do v