Moore?"
"Oh, yes," Mangan said.
"She wishes me to bring her the latest news."
Well, he was told what there was to tell--which was not much, amid all
this dire uncertainty. He looked perplexed.
"I should like to have taken Miss Cunyngham some more reassuring
message," he said, thoughtfully. "I suppose there is nothing either she
or I could do?" And then he drew Maurice aside and spoke in an
undertone. "Except perhaps this. I have heard that Moore has been
playing a little high of late--and has burned his fingers. I hope you
won't let his mind be harassed by money matters. If a temporary loan
will serve, and for a considerable amount if necessary, I will rely on
your writing to me; may I?"
"It is exceedingly kind of you," Maurice said--but made no further
promise.
No, Lionel had not been forgotten by all his fashionable friends. That
same afternoon a package arrived, which, according to custom, Maurice
opened, lest some acknowledgment should be necessary. It proved to be
Lady Adela Cunyngham's new novel--the three volumes prettily bound in
white parchment.
"Is the woman mad with vanity," said Francie, in hot indignation, "to
send him her trash at such a time as this?"
Maurice laughed; it was not often that the gentle Francie was so
vehement.
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