"But how shall I know the result?"
I pondered. "I will write—no, that would be hardly proper. Meet me in the Royal Academy, Room Six, at the 'Portrait of a Gentleman,' about noon to-morrow week."
"A week is a long time!" he sighed.
I arched my eyebrows. "A week a long time for such a task!" I exclaimed.
Next day I called at the house of the Voice. A gorgeous creature in plush opened the door.
"I want to see—to see—gracious! I've forgotten his name," I said in patent chagrin. I clucked my tongue, puckered my lips, tapped the step with my parasol, then smiled pitifully at the creature in plush. He turned out to be only human, for a responsive sympathetic smile flickered across his pompous face. "You know—the singer," I said, as if with a sudden inspiration.
"Oh. Lord Arthur!" he said.
"Yes, of course," I cried, with a little trill of laughter. "How stupid of me! Please tell him I want to see him on an important matter."
"He—he's very busy, I'm afraid, miss."