"No," said he, trying to balance three nectarines one on the top of the
other, "I have not gone to Paris. I have made enough friends in London.
I have had plenty to occupy the time. And now, Ogilvie," he added,
brightly, "I am going in for my last frolic, before everybody has left
London, and you must come to it, even if you have to go down by your
cold-meat train again. You know Miss Rawlinson; you have seen her at
Mrs. Ross's, no doubt. Very well; I met her first when we went down to
the Thames yacht race, and afterwards we became great friends; and the
dear little old lady already looks on me as if I were her son. And do
you know what her proposal is? That she is to give me up her house and
garden for a garden party, and I am to ask my friends; and it is to be a
dance as well, for we shall ask the people to have supper at eight
o'clock or so; and then we shall have a marquee--and the garden all
lighted up--do you see? It is one of the largest gardens on Campden
Hill; and the colored lamps hung on the trees will make it look very
fine; and we shall have a band to play music for the dancers--"

"It will cost you £200 or £300 at least," said Ogilvie, sharply.

"What then? You give your friends a pleasant evening, and you show them
that you are not ungrateful," said Macleod.

Ogilvie began to ponder over this matter. The stories he had heard of
Macleod's extravagant entertainments were true, then. Suddenly he looked
up and said,--

"Is Miss White to be one of your guests?"

"I hope so," said he. "The theatre will be closed at the end of this
week."