“Mrs. Ross wants to see you for a minute,” Ogilvie said.
“Yes,” Macleod answered, absently.
“And we have time yet, if you like, to get into a hansom and drive along to Lady Beauregard’s.”
IN PARK LANE.
They found Mrs. Ross and her husband waiting in the corridor above.
“Well, how did you like it?” she said.
He could not answer offhand. He was afraid he might say too much.
“It is like her singing,” he stammered, at length. “I am not used to these things. I have never seen anything like that before.”
“We shall soon have her in a better piece,” Mrs. Ross said. “It is being written for her, That is very pretty, but slight. She is capable of greater things.”
“She is capable of anything,” said Macleod, simply, “if she can make you believe that such nonsense is real. I looked at the others. What did they say or do better than mere pictures in a book? But she—it is like magic.”
“And did Mr. Ogilvie give you my message?” said Mrs. Ross. “My husband and I are going down to see a yacht race on the Thames to-morrow—we did not think of it till this evening any more than we expected to find you here. We came along to try to get Miss White to go with us. Will you join our little party?”
“Oh, yes, certainly—thank you very much,” Macleod said, eagerly.
“Then you’d better meet us at Charing Cross, at ten sharp,” Colonel Ross said; “so don’t let Ogilvie keep you up too late with brandy and soda. A special will take us down.”
“Brandy and soda!” Mr. Ogilvie exclaimed. “I am going to take him along for a few minutes to Lady Beauregard’s—surely that is proper enough; and I have to get down by the ‘cold-meat’ train to Aldershot, so there won’t be much brandy and soda for me. Shall we go now, Mrs. Ross?”
“I am waiting for an answer,” Mrs. Ross said, looking along the corridor.