"I suppose I've met her somewhere," he thought, pausing in the doorway. "I wish I could remember her name. She's certainly somebody."
An instant later he caught the eye of the head waiter, and summoned him with a slight gesture.
"Who is the lady at the fourth table from the door?" he asked briefly. "I seem to have forgotten her name."
The haughty functionary followed the direction of Barry's glance, and then turned back, an odd expression in his eyes.
"That is Mrs. Winslow Courtney, sir," he answered stiffly.
For a second Lawrence was almost feezed. Then, with a short nod, he passed on into the corridor.
Mrs. Winslow Courtney! No wonder he could not recall meeting her before. He doubted whether he had ever even seen her, save, perhaps, in her box at the opera; for it was she, more than any other woman, who ruled New York society. With family, vast wealth, and a charming personality, she had taken her place in that innermost circle around which the social life of the entire country revolved. One of her daughters was the wife of Prince von Lauenberg, the wealthiest nobleman in Prussia; another was the Duchess of Wilton.
Decidedly Barry had no right to that charming smile from Mrs. Winslow Courtney.
"I suppose she took me for some one else," he murmured, as he left the Plaza. "I wouldn't mind knowing her, though. Her friends, her acquaintances, have to be somebody."
CHAPTER XV.