Lady Adela; and I have no doubt he will be able to give you some good
advice."

It was late that evening when, in obedience to the summons of a sixpenny
telegram, Maurice Mangan called at the stage-door of the New Theatre and
was passed in. Lionel Moore was on the stage, as any one could tell, for
the resonant baritone voice was ringing clear above the multitudinous
music of the orchestra; but Mangan, not wishing to be in the way, did
not linger in the wings--he made straight for his friend's room, which
he knew. And in the dusk of the long corridor he was fortunate enough to
behold a beautiful apparition, in the person of a young French officer
in the gayest of uniforms, who, apparently to maintain the character he
bore in the piece (it was that of a young prisoner of war liberated on
parole, who played sad havoc with the hearts of the village maidens by
reason of his fascinating ways and pretty broken English), had just
facetiously chucked two of the women dressers under the chin; and these
damsels were simpering at this mark of condescension, and evidently much
impressed by the swagger and braggadocio of the miniature warrior.
However, Mlle. Girond (the boy-officer in question) no sooner caught
sight of the new-comer than she instantly and demurely altered her
demeanor; and as she passed him in the corridor she favored him with a
grave and courteous little bow, for she had met him more than once in
Miss Burgoyne's sitting-room. Mangan returned the salutation most
respectfully; and then he went on and entered the apartment in which
Lionel Moore dressed.

It was empty; so this tall, thin man with the slightly stooping
shoulders threw himself into a wicker-work easy-chair, and let his
eyes--which were much keener than was properly compatible with the
half-affected expression of indolence that had become habitual to