"My dear Mrs. Van der Leyd Smith"—
"Smythe," said the lady, correcting Dora.
"Excuse me, I never can remember names. In England, artists like Schowalski are received by the aristocracy and even at Court. Perhaps that makes them so bold as to think they may be fit to associate with the aristocracy of New York."
"Take that," she said to herself.
The magnificent New Yorker fanned herself, smiled a little awry, and went to join the group which held her daughter, the Countess of Gampton.
Lorimer had not lost a word of the conversation. He would fain have cried "Bravo."
"For a débutante," said he, "you are going strong—that was promising."
"My dear Gerald, I feel that I am getting spiteful—I shall bite soon."
Just at this moment, quite near the door, she perceived a lady taking notes. She had already noticed her before—this person who drew up every now and then near certain groups, carefully studied the dresses, and looked up and down the people whom she did not seem to know.
"Do tell me," Dora said to Lorimer, "who is that woman who puzzles me so? What is she doing? She seems to be taking notes; just now she was making little sketches—she is an artist, no doubt."