"
"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.
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