"Surely! Everybody has heard of Mrs. Cleaver. It's easy to see you don't read the society columns."
"She's the real thing, then."
"Well—not quite. Owing to the publicity she gets, she passes in the mind of the public as one of our leaders. But they say she has rather a strangely assorted crowd at her house, and conservative ladies—like Mrs. Delamare, are a little, what shall I say, leery of her. Nothing against her reputation you understand, but she's considered a little too spectacular in her methods."
"She made out to recognize Bobo from his likeness to my mother, and asked us to a musicale to-night. I thought she was a crook."
"Oh, hardly that! That was only a ladies' lie. Perfectly justifiable under the circumstances."
"What circumstances?"
"My dear fellow! You forget the éclat of a hundred millions! Think what a drawing card you—I mean Bobo—will be at her entertainments. She intends to be the first to exhibit him."
"Then you think it will be all right for us to go?"
"Why not? It will be amusing—and it can't very well do you any harm."
Just the same when Jack hung up the receiver a doubt remained in his mind. "How did it happen she picked on Bobo with such certainty?" he wondered. "No photograph has been published."