“Lionel is like the British government, Mrs. Moore,” Mangan said, with a smile.  “He thinks he can get over every difficulty by pulling out his purse.  But perhaps Miss Francie might prefer carrying out her charitable work herself.”

So Maurice Mangan was arrogating to himself, was he, the right of guessing Francie’s preferences?

“Well, mother, tell me where I am likely to find her.  I am going to pull her out of those fever-dens and refuges for cripples.  Why, she ought to know that’s all exploded now.  Slumming, as a fad, had its day, but it’s quite gone out now—­”

“Do you think it is because it is fashionable, or was fashionable, that Miss Francie takes an interest in those poor children?” Maurice asked, gently.

Lionel was nearly telling him to mind his own business; why should he step in to defend Cousin Francie?

“She said she was going across the common to old Widow Jackson’s,” his mother answered him, “and you may find her either there or on the way to the village.”

“Widow Jackson’s?” he repeated, in doubt.

“Oh, I know it,” Mangan said, cheerfully.  And again Lionel was somewhat astonished.  How had Maurice Mangan acquired this particular knowledge of Francie’s surroundings?  Perhaps his attendance at the House of Commons had not been so unintermittent as he had intimated?

There were still further surprises in store for Master Lionel.  When at length they encountered Miss Francie—­how pretty she looked as she came along the pathway through the gorse, in her simple costume of dark gray, with a brown velvet hat and brown tan gloves!—­it was in vain that he tried to dissuade her from giving up the rest of the afternoon to her small proteges.  In the most natural way in the world she turned to Maurice Mangan—­and her eyes sought his in a curiously straightforward, confiding fashion that caused Lionel to wonder.

“On Christmas-day, of all the days of the year!” she said, as if appealing to Maurice.  “Surely, surely, I must give up Christmas-day to them!  Oh, do you know, Mr. Mangan, there never was a happier present than you thought of for the little blind boy who got his leg broken—­you remember?  He learned almost directly how to do the puzzle; and he gets the ring off so quickly that no one can see how it is done; and he laughs with delight when he finds that any neighbor coming in can only growl and grumble—­and fail.  I’m going there just now; won’t you come?  And mind you be very angry when you can’t get the ring off; you may use any language you like about your clumsiness—­poor little chap, he has heard plenty of that in his time.”

Maurice needed no second invitation; this was what he had come for; he had found the sunlight to lighten up the Christmas-day withal; his face, that was almost beautiful in its fine intellectuality, showed that whenever she spoke to him.  Lionel, of course, went with them.

And again it was Maurice Mangan whom Miss Francie addressed, as they walked along to the village.