continued, as he took up his hat and stick, seeing that Lionel was about ready to go, "do you ever hear from Miss Francie Wright, or have you forgotten her among all your fine friends?"
"Oh, I hear from Francie sometimes," he answered, carelessly, "or about her, anyway, whenever I get a letter from home. She's very well. Boarding out pauper sick children is her new fad; and I believe she's very busy and very happy over it. Come along, Maurice; we'll walk up to the Garden, and get something of an appetite for supper."
When they arrived at the Garden Club (so named from its proximity to Covent Garden) they went forthwith into the spacious apartment on the ground floor which served at once as dining-room, newspaper-room, and smoking-room. There was hardly anybody in it. Four young men in evening dress were playing cards at a side-table; at another table a solitary member was writing; but at the long supper-table—which was prettily lit up with crimson-shaded lamps, and the appointments of which seemed very trim and clean and neat—all the chairs were empty, and the only other occupants of the place were the servants, who wore a simple livery of white linen.
"What for supper, Maurice?" the younger of the two friends asked.
"Anything—with salad," Mangan answered; he was examining a series of old engravings that hung around the walls.
"On a warm night like this what do you say to cold lamb, salad, and some hock and iced soda-water?"
"All right."
Supper was speedily forthcoming, and, as they took their places, Mangan said,
"You don't often go down to see the old people, Linn?"
"I'm so frightfully busy!"