"Has Miss Francie ever been up to the theatre—to see 'The Squire's Daughter,' I mean?"—this question he seemed to put rather diffidently.
"No. I've asked her often enough; but she always laughs and puts it off. She seems to be as busy down there as I am up here."
"What does she think of the great name and fame you have made for yourself?"
"How should I know?"
Then there was silence for a second or two.
"I wish you'd run down to see them some Sunday, Linn; I'd go down with you."
"Why not go down by yourself?—they'd be tremendously glad to see you."
"I should be more welcome if I took you with me. You know your cousin likes you to pay a little attention to the old people. Come! Say Sunday week."
"My dear fellow, Sunday is my busiest day. Sunday night is the only night I have out of the seven. And I fancy that it is for that very Sunday evening that Lord Rockminster has engaged the Lansdowne Gallery; he gives a little dinner-party, and his sisters have a big concert afterwards—we've all got to sing the chorus of the new marching-song Lady Sybil has composed for the army."
"Who is Lady Sybil?"