But a much more important event was now about to happen which the theatrical papers would have been glad to get for their weekly gossip, had the persons chiefly concerned thought fit.  Just at this time there was being formed in London, under distinguished patronage, a loan-collection of arms and embroideries of the Middle Ages, and there was to be a Private View on the Saturday preceding the opening of the exhibition to the public.  Among others, Miss Burgoyne received a couple of cards of invitation, whereupon she came to Lionel, told him that her brother Jim was going to see some football match on that day, explained that she was very anxious to have a look at the precious needle-work, and virtually asked him to take her to the show.  Lionel hung back; the crowd at this Private View was sure to include a number of fashionable folk; there might be one or two people there whom he would rather not meet.  But Miss Burgoyne was gently persuasive, not to say pertinacious; he could not well refuse; finally it was arranged he should call for her about half past one o’clock on the Saturday, so that they might have a look round before the crush began in the afternoon.

Trust an actress to know how to dress for any possible occasion!  When he called for her, he found her attired in a most charming costume; though, to be sure, when she was at last ready to go, he may have thought her furs a trifle too magnificent for her height.  They drove in a hansom to Bond Street.  There were few people in the rooms, certainly no one whom he knew; she could study those gorgeous treasures of embroidery from Italy and the East, he could examine the swords and daggers and coats of mail, as they pleased.  And when they had lightly glanced round the rooms, he was for getting away again; but she was bent on remaining until the world should arrive, and declared that she had not half exhausted the interest of the various cases.

As it chanced, the first persons he saw whom he knew were Miss Georgie Lestrange and her brother; and Miss Georgie, not perceiving that any one was with him (for Miss Burgoyne was at the moment feasting her eyes on some rich-hued Persian stuffs), came up to him.

“Why, Mr. Moore, you have quite disappeared of late,” the ruddy-haired damsel said, quite reproachfully.  “Where have you been?  What have you been doing?”

“Don’t you ever read the newspapers, Miss Lestrange?” he said.  “I have been advertised as being on view every night at the New Theatre.”

“Oh, I don’t mean that.  Lady Adela says you have quite forsaken her.”

“Is Lady Adela to be here this afternoon?” he asked, in an off-hand way.

“Oh, certainly,” replied Miss Georgie.  “She is going everywhere just now, in order to put everything into her new novel.  It is to be a perfectly complete picture of London life as we see it around us.”

“That is, the London between Bond Street and Campden Hill?”