"Mrs. Fowler might not be flattered by the resemblance, then," he said drily. "She's awfully keen on the proprieties and all that sort of thing."
"How did you come to meet her, if I may ask?"
"Came in here one day with Macgowan to luncheon, and met her; she was lunching with a chap he knew—that's the man over there now, with her; his back to us. Harry Lorenz. He's a broker or something that doesn't take work."
Dorothy nodded. She had heard Armstrong speak of Macgowan's intimacy with Harry Lorenz, and now she frowned slightly.
"Is she a friend of Lawrence Macgowan?" she enquired.
"I don't think he knows her, except casually," said Wren. Then he kindled. "I've been up to her place several times; she has a wonderful little apartment uptown, and gives small musical affairs there. She has the voice of an angel! She's thinking of giving some big recitals later in the season. Not for the money—she doesn't need that: but for some charity she's interested in. She knows all the big musical people. They say Caruso advised her to go into opera, but she won't do that."
Luncheon arrived. Wren was too absorbed in his subject to be observant, or he might have noticed a singular change in Dorothy's manner. Her careless gayety had quite departed. In its stead, there appeared an active and keen interest, a tense eagerness. She seemed suddenly all on the alert, as though she had glimpsed some antagonist and were seeking an opening for her weapons.
And so, in fact, she had.
"Do you know Macgowan well, Jimmy?" she asked presently.
"Not very much, outside the office. A wonderful chap, isn't he? Been splendid to me, too; put me up at clubs and that sort of thing. He's pretty deep, too."