"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 leaving their
coats and hats. "I always thought 'Gabrielle Grey' was the pseudonym of
an elderly clergyman's widow, or somebody of that kind.
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