ll band of log-rollers say, calling industriously to one another,
like frogs in a pond. Didn't I tell you what would happen if you got
hold of Octavius Quirk, or any one of them? How many dinners did your
swell friends expend on Quirk?"

"Oh, I don't know. He is pretty often at the house."

"He is pretty often at the house, is he?" Mangan repeated.

"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 neve