"
"What does she think of the great name and fame you have made for
yourself?"
"How should I know?"
Then there was silence for a second or two.
"I wish you'd run down to see them some Sunday, Linn; I'd go down with
you."
"Why not go down by yourself?--they'd be tremendously glad to see you."
"I should be more welcome if I took you with me. You know your cousin
likes you to pay a little attention to the old people. Come! Say Sunday
week."
"My dear fellow, Sunday is my busiest day. Sunday night is the only
night I have out of the seven. And I fancy that it is for that very
Sunday evening that Lord Rockminster has engaged the Lansdowne Gallery;
he gives a little dinner-party, and his sisters have a big concert
afterwards--we've all got to sing the chorus of the new marching-song
Lady Sybil has composed for the army."
"Who is Lady Sybil?"
"The sister of the authoress whose novel you were reading."
"My gracious! is there another genius in the family?"
"There's a third," said Lionel, with a bit of a smile. "What would you
say if Lady Rosamund Bourne were to paint a portrait of me as Harry
Thornhill for the Royal Academy?"
"I should say the betting was fifty to one against its getting in.
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