you, I don't think there is anything. Look at the flowers and
grapes and things there--already--and this is Sunday."

She glanced at those gifts with open disdain.

"Very easy for rich folks to show their sympathy by sending an order to
their head-gardener!"

"I will tell him that you called, and left kind messages for him."

"Yes, tell him that. And tell him Doyle does very well--fairly
well--though he's as nervous as a pantomime-girl hoisted in a
transformation-scene. If I were you," continued this extremely practical
young lady, "I wouldn't tell any of the newspaper men that it may be a
considerable time before Mr. Moore is back. Nobody likes to lose touch
of the public more than he can help, you know; and if they're always
expecting you back, that's something. Good-bye!"

Maurice accompanied her down-stairs and to the door; then he returned to
the sitting-room and to his private meditations. For this brief
interview had been of the keenest interest to him; he had studied every
expression of her face, listened to every intonation of her voice;
almost forced, in spite of himself, to admire her magnificent nerve. But
now, of course, in recalling all these things, he was thinking of
Francie; as a man invariably does when he places the one woman of the
world on a pedestal, that all the rest of her sex may be compared with
her; and even his extorted admiration of the prima-donna's coolness and
self-possession and business-like tact did not prevent his rejoicing at
the thought that Francie and Miss Burgoyne were poles asunder.

That evening Maurice was startled. He had gone very quietly into the
sick-room, just to see how his patient was getting on, and found him
breathing heavily and also restlessly muttering to himself. Perhaps even
the slight noise of his entrance had attracted the notice of one
abnormally sensitive; at all events, Lionel opened his eyes, which were
no longer drowsy, but eager and excited, and said,

"Maurice, have you not sent for Nina yet?"

"For Nina?"

"Oh, yes, yes," Lionel went on, as quickly as his laboring breath would
allow. "How can I go abroad without saying good-bye to Nina? Tell
Jenkins to go down to Sloane Street at once--at once, Maurice--before
she leaves for the theatre. I have been waiting for her all day--I heard
the people coming up--one after another--but not Nina. And I cannot go
without saying good-bye. I want to tell her something. She must make
friends with Miss Burgo