“I hope they won’t ask him to Scotland,” Lionel said, ruefully.  “I can’t bear the fellow; it’s just as you say, he’s always in a whirlwind of insistence—­about nothing; and he doesn’t grin through a horse-collar, he roars and guffaws through it.  But then, you see, he has been very kind about this book; and, of course, a new author, like Lady Adela, is grateful.  I admit what you say is right enough—­perhaps the family are a little anxious for notoriety; but so are a good many other people; and there’s no great harm in writing or painting or composing music as well as you can.  Mind, I think there’s a little professional jealousy about you, Maurice,” continued this sage Mentor.  “You don’t like a woman of fashion to come into your literary circles.  But why shouldn’t she?  I’m sure I don’t object when any one of them tries to produce a little dramatic or musical piece; on the contrary, I would rather help.  And look at Mellord—­the busiest painter of the day—­look at the trouble he takes in advising Lady Rosamund; she has the free entree into his studio, no matter who is sitting to him.  I think, for amateurs, the work of all the three sisters is very creditable to them; and I don’t see why they shouldn’t like to have the appreciation of the public, just as other people like it.”

“My dear fellow,” Mangan said, but with obvious indifference, “do you think I resent the fact of your friend Lady Arthur or Lady Adela writing a foolish novel?  Far from it.  You asked my opinion of it, and I told you; if you don’t see for yourself that the book is absolute trash—­but harmless trash, as I think—­then you are in a happy condition of mind, for you must be easily pleased.  Come, let’s talk of something worth talking about.  Have you been down to Winstead lately?”

“No—­never since that Sunday.”

“Do you know, your people were awfully good to me,” this long, lank, lazy-looking man went on—­but now he seemed more interested than when talking about Lady Adela’s novel.  “I never spent a more delightful evening—­never.  I wonder they did not turn me out, though; for I stayed and stayed, and never noticed how late it was getting.  Missed the last train, of course, and walked all the way up to London; not a bit sorry, either, for the night was cool, and there was plenty of starlight; I’d walk twice as far to spend another such evening.  I—­I’m thinking of going down there next Sunday,” he added, with a little hesitation.

“Why not?” Lionel said, cordially enough.

“You see,” Mangan continued, still rather hesitatingly, “the fact is—­I’m rather in the way of getting illustrated papers—­and—­and summer numbers—­and children’s books—­I mean, when I want them, I can get them—­for lots of these things come to the newspaper offices, and they’re not much use to anybody; so I thought I would just make up a parcel and send it down to Miss Frances, don’t you understand, for her sick children—­”

“I dare say you went and spent a lot of money.”  Lionel said, with a laugh.