vacillation. They're talking of still another lyric theatre; you'll have to save up your voice, Linn—by Jove! you fellows will be in tremendous request. What else? Oh, nothing. There's been a plucky thing done by a servant-girl in rescuing two children from a fire—if there's a little testimonial to her, I'm in with my humble guinea. But there's nothing in the papers—I'm glad I'm not a leader-writer."
He went and got some more water for a jug of white lilies that stood on the table, and began to put things a little straight—as if he were a woman.
"Maurice!"
"You're not to talk, Linn, I tell you!"
"I must—just a word," Lionel said, and Mangan was forced to listen. "What does the doctor really say?"
"About you?—oh, you're going on first-rate! Only you've to keep still and quiet and not trouble about anything."
"What day is this?"
"Why, Tuesday."
He thought for a little.
"It—it was a Saturday I was taken ill? I have forgotten so many things. But—but there's this, Maurice; if anything happens to me—the piano in the next room—it belongs to me—you will give that to Francie for her wedding-present. I would have—given her something more, but you know. And if you ever hear of Nina Rossi, will you ask her to—to take some of the things in a box you'll find on the top of the piano—they all belonged to her—if she won't take them all back, she must take some—as a—as a keepsake. She ought to do that. Perhaps she won't think I treated her so badly—when it's all over—"