And she introduced him to the American lady still at her side.
"I had the honour of making madame's acquaintance in New York," said Schowalski, bowing.
"Really," replied Mrs. W. G. van der Leyd Smythe, "when was that?"
"Why, two years ago in New York, in your drawing-room, where I had the honour of playing."
"That's true—I think I remember—in January 1896; yes, yes—delighted to meet you again, Mr. ... I never can remember names—what is his name again?" asked she of Dora.
Schowalski heard no more. He bowed, shook hands with a few friends and disappeared.
"Schowalski is one of the greatest pianists of the day," said Dora.
"I know, I know," said the lady with the string of names, "but what impertinence to enter into conversation with your guests, as if he had been invited. Upon my word, the effrontery of these musicians!"
She followed him with her eyes as she stared through a pair of long-handled glasses, that are a weapon of offence in the fingers of some women.
"Well, to be sure," she cried, "if he isn't shaking hands with Lady Gampton now! My dear Mrs. Grantham, in New York we do not entertain musicians, we engage them to entertain us—we pay them and we are quits."