“Oh, yes, that’s all settled,” Mangan said, cheerfully.  “I can’t say there is much of the grasping creditor about your friend.  I could hardly persuade him to take the check at all, after I had hunted him from place to place.  What made you so desperately punctilious, Linn?  You don’t imagine he would have talked about it to any women-folk, even supposing you had not paid up?  Is that it?  No, no, you can’t imagine he would do anything of that kind; I should call him a thoroughly good fellow, if one might be so familiar with his betters.  However, I don’t want you to say anything; you mustn’t speak; I’m going to talk to you.”  He drew in a chair to the bedside and sat down.  “Now I wish you to understand.  You’ve got a mortal bad cold, which may develop into a fever; and you have a slightly congested throat; altogether you must consider yourself an invalid, old man; and it may be some time before you can get back to the theatre.  Now the first thing for you is peace of mind; you’re not to worry about anything; you’ve got to dismiss every possible care and vexation.”

“It’s all you know, Maurice,” the sick man said, with a wearied sigh.

“Oh, I know more than you think.  We’ll just take one thing at a time.  About this eleven hundred pounds for example.  You are aware I am not, strictly speaking, a Croesus, yet I have made my little economies, and they are tied up in one or two fairly safe things.  Well, now—­Oh, be quiet, Linn, and let me have it out!  Something happened to me yesterday that more than ever convinced me of the worthlessness of riches.  You know the coppice that goes up from Winstead station.  At the farther end there is a gate.  At that gate yesterday I heard a dozen words—­twenty or thirty, perhaps—­that were of more value to me than Pactolus in full flood or all the money heaped up in Aladdin’s cave.  And now I am so puffed up with joy and pride that I am going still further to despise my wealth—­my hoards and vast accumulations; and on Monday, if I can, I am going to get you that eleven hundred pounds, just as sure as ever was—­”

“Maurice—­you have to think of Francie,” Lionel said, in his husky, low voice.  And here Mangan paused for a second or two.

“Well,” said he, more thoughtfully, “what happened yesterday certainly involves responsibilities; but these haven’t been assumed yet; and the nearest duty is the one to be considered.  I don’t know whether I shall tell Francie; I may, or I may not; but I am certain that if I do she will approve—­certain as that I am alive.”

“I won’t rob Francie,” said Lionel, with a little moan of weariness or pain.

“You can’t rob her of what she hasn’t got,” Mangan said, promptly.  “I know this, that if Francie knew you were in these straits and worrying about it, she would instantly come up and offer you her own little money—­which is not a very large fortune, as I understand; and I also know that you would refuse it.”