troduced the subject,
Mangan looked up quickly, and regarded the younger man with those
penetrating gray eyes.

"Where have you been to-day, Linn?"

"Brighton."

"Among the dukes and duchesses again? Ah, you needn't be angry--I
respect as much as anybody those whom God has placed over us--I haven't
forgotten my catechism--I can order myself lowly and reverently to all
my betters. But tell me what the matter is. You sick of life?--I wonder
what the gay world of London would think of that!"

And therewithal Lionel, in a somewhat rambling and incoherent fashion,
told his friend of a good many things that had happened to him of
late--of his vague aspirations and dissatisfactions--of Miss Cunyngham's
visit to the theatre, and his disgust over the music-hall clowning--of
his going down to Brighton that day, and his wish to stand on some other
footing with those friends of his--winding up by asking, to Mangan's
surprise, how long it would take to study for the bar and get called,
and whether his training--the confidence acquired on the stage--might
not help in addressing a jury.

"So the idol has got tired of being worshipped," Mangan said, at last.
"It is an odd thing. I wonder how many thousands of people there are in
London--not merely shop-girls--who consider you the most fortunate
person alive--in whose imagination you loom larger than any saint or
soldier, any priest or statesman, of our own time. And I wonder what
they would say if they knew you were thinking of voluntarily abdicating
so proud and enviable a position. Well, well!--and the reason for this
sacrifice? Of course, you know it is a not uncommon thing for women to
give up their carriages and luxuries and fine living, and go into a
retreat, where they have to sweep out cells, and even keep strict
silence for a week at a time, which, I suppose, is a more difficult
business. The reason in their case is clear enough; they are driven to
all that by their spiritual needs; they want to have their souls washed
clean by penance and self-denial. But you," he continued, in no
unfriendly mood, but with his usual uncompromising sincerity, "whence
comes your renunciation? It is simply that a woman has turned your head.
You want to find yourself on the same plane with her; you want to be
socially her equal; and to do that you think you should throw off those
theatrical trappings. You see, my dear Linn, if I have remembered my
catechism, you have not; you have forgotten