wouldn’t include Rockminster in that category, but I must have him to help me, as my husband is away in Scotland looking after his beasts.  Now do be good-natured, dear Mr. Moore, and say you will come.

“And I am going to try your goodness another way.  You remember
speaking to me about a friend of yours who was connected with
newspapers, and who knew some of the London correspondents of the
provincial journals?  Could you oblige me with his address and the
correct spelling of his name?  I presume he would not consider it
out of the way if I wrote to him as being a friend of yours, and
enclosed a card of invitation.  I want to have all the
talents—­that is, all of them I can get to come and honor the
house of a mere novice and beginner.  I did not catch either your
friend’s surname or his Christian name. 

                            Ever yours sincerely, ADELA CUNYNGHAM.”

He tossed the letter on to the table.

“I wonder,” he said to himself, “how much of that is meant for me, and how much for Maurice Mangan and newspaper paragraphs.”

But it was high time to get to bed; and that he did without any serious fretting over his losses at the Garden Club.  These had amounted, on the whole gamble, to nearly L170; which might have made him pause.  For did he not owe responsibilities elsewhere?  If he went on at this rate (he ought to have been asking himself) whence was likely to come the money for the plenishing of a certain small household—­an elegant little establishment towards which Miss Kate Burgoyne was no doubt now looking forward with pleased and expectant eyes.

CHAPTER XXI.

IN A DEN OF LIONS, AND THEREAFTER.

When Maurice Mangan, according to appointment, called at Lionel’s rooms on the evening of Lady Adela Cunyngham’s dinner-party, he was surprised to find his friend seated in front of the fire, wrapped up in a dressing-gown.

“Linn, what’s the matter with you?” he exclaimed, looking at him.  “Are you ill?  What have you been doing to yourself?”

“Oh, nothing,” was the answer.  “I have been rather worried and out of sorts lately, that is all.  And I can’t go to that dinner to-night, Maurice.  Will you make my excuses for me, like a good fellow?  Tell Lady Adela I’m awfully sorry—­”

“I’m sure I sha’n’t do anything of the sort,” Mangan said, promptly.  “Do you think I am going to leave you here all by yourself?  You know why I accepted the invitation:  mere curiosity; I wanted to see you among those people—­I wanted to describe to Miss Francie how you looked when you were being adored—­”

“My dear chap, you would have seen nothing of the sort,” Lionel said.  “To-night there is to be a shining galaxy of genius, and each particular star will be eager to absorb all the adoration that is going.  Authors, actors, painters, musicians—­that kind of people; kid-gloved Bohemia.”