he not owe responsibilities elsewhere? If he went on at this rate (he
ought to have been asking himself) whence was likely to come the money
for the plenishing of a certain small household--an elegant little
establishment towards which Miss Kate Burgoyne was no doubt now looking
forward with pleased and expectant eyes.

CHAPTER XXI.

IN A DEN OF LIONS, AND THEREAFTER.

When Maurice Mangan, according to appointment, called at Lionel's rooms
on the evening of Lady Adela Cunyngham's dinner-party, he was surprised
to find his friend seated in front of the fire, wrapped up in a
dressing-gown.

"Linn, what's the matter with you?" he exclaimed, looking at him. "Are
you ill? What have you been doing to yourself?"

"Oh, nothing," was the answer. "I have been rather worried and out of
sorts lately, that is all. And I can't go to that dinner to-night,
Maurice. Will you make my excuses for me, like a good fellow? Tell Lady
Adela I'm awfully sorry--"

"I'm sure I sha'n't do anything of the sort," Mangan said, promptly. "Do
you think I am going to leave you here all by yourself? You know why I
accepted the invitation: mere curiosity; I wanted to see you among
those people--I wanted to describe to Miss Francie how you looked when
you were being adored--"

"My dear chap, you would have seen nothing of the sort," Lionel said.
"To-night there is to be a shining galaxy of genius, and each particular
star will be eager to absorb all the adoration that is going. Authors,
actors, painters, musicians--that kind of people; kid-gloved Bohemia."

"Come, Linn; rouse yourself, man," his friend protested. "You'll do no
good moping here by the fire. There's still time for you to dress; I
came early in case you might want to walk up to Campden Hill. And you
shouldn't disappoint your friends, if this is to be so great an
occasion."

"I suppose you're right," Lionel said, and he rose wearily, "though I
would twenty times rather go to bed. You can find a book for yourself,
Maurice; I sha'n't keep you many minutes," and with that he disappeared
into his dressing-room.

A four-wheeler carried them up to Campden Hill; a welcome glow of light
shone forth on the carriage-drive and the dark bushes. As they entered
and crossed the wide hall, they were preceded by a young lady whose name
was at the same moment announced at the door of the drawing-room--"Miss
Gabrielle Grey."

"Oh, really," said Mangan to his companion, as they were leavin