simple young man.

"No, no, not at all," said she, frankly. "People are sure to get to
know. There are some sketches of character in the book that I think will
make a little stir--I mean people will be asking questions; and then you
know how a pseudonym whets curiosity--they will certainly find out--and
they will talk all the more then. That ought to do the book some good.
And then you understand, Mr. Moore," continued this remarkably naive
person, "if your friend happened to know any of the reviewers, and could
suggest how some little polite attention might be paid them, there would
be nothing wrong in that, would there? I am told that they are quite
gentlemen nowadays--they go everywhere--and--and indeed I should like to
make their acquaintance, since I've come into the writing fraternity
myself."

Lionel Moore was silent; he was considering how he should approach the
fastidious, whimsical, sardonic Maurice Mangan on this extremely
difficult subject.

"Let me see," he said, presently. "This is Wednesday; my friend Mangan
won't be at the House; I will send a message to his rooms, and ask him
to come down to the theatre: then we can have a consultation about it.
May I take this copy of the book with me, Lady Adela?"

"Certainly, certainly!" said she, with promptitude. "And if you know of
any one to whom I should send a copy, with the author's name in it--my
own name, I mean--it would be extremely kind of you to let me know. It's
so awfully hard for us poor outsiders to get a hearing. You professional
folk are in a very different position--the public just worship you--you
have it all your own way--you don't need to care what the critics