What next? That calm air was a trifle cold and distant. He did not know who the woman was, or where she lived, or whether her husband had any shooting, or a yacht, or a pack of hounds. What was he to say? He returned to the Princess.
"I only saw her as she was leaving," said he. "We came late. We were at the Piccadilly Theatre."
"Oh, you saw Miss Gertrude White," said this stout lady; and he was glad to see her eyes light up with some interest. "She is very clever, is she not—and so pretty and engaging. I wish I knew some one who knew her."
"I know some friends of hers," Macleod said, rather timidly.
"Oh, do you, really? Do you think she would give me a morning performance for my Fund?"
This lady seemed to take it so much for granted that every one must have heard of her Fund that he dared not confess his ignorance. But it was surely some charitable thing; and how could he doubt that Miss White would immediately respond to such an appeal?
"I should think that she would," said he, with a little hesitation; but at this moment some other claimant came forward, and he turned away to seek young Ogilvie once more.
"Ogilvie," said he, "who is that lady in the green satin?"
"The Duchess of Wexford."
"Has she a Fund?"