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he result of it all. You can't eat anything--you're not taking a mouthful!" "But, you know, mother, I'm not used to luncheon," he said, cheerfully enough. "I have to dine at five every day--and I've no time to bother with luncheon, even if I could eat it." "Take a glass of port, my lad," the old doctor said. "That will put some life into you." "No, thanks," he said, indifferently, "I can't afford to play tricks. I have to study my throat." "Why, what better astringent can you have than tannic acid?" the old gentleman called down the table. "I suppose you drink those washy abominations that the young men of the day prefer to honest wine; what's that I hear about lemonade? Lemonade!" he repeated, with disgust. "It's home-brewed--it's wholesome enough; Miss Burgoyne makes some for me when she is making it for herself," the young man said; and then he turned to his mother: "Mother, I wish you would send her something from the garden--" "Who, Lionel?" "Miss Burgoyne--at the theatre, you know. She's very good to me--lends me her room if I have any swell friends who want to come behind--and makes me this lemonade, which is better than anything else on a hot night. Couldn't you send her something from the garden?--not flowers--she gets too many flowers, and doesn't care for them; but if you had some early strawberries or something of that kind, she would take them as a greater compliment, coming from you, than if some idiot of a young fool spent guineas on them at a florist's. And when are you coming up to see 'The Squire's Daughter,' Francie? The idea that you should never have been near the place, when I hear people confessing to each other that they have been to see it eight and ten, or even a dozen times!" "But I am so busy, Lionel!" she said; and then perhaps an echo of something that had been said in the morning may have recurred to her mind; for she seemed a trifle confused, and kept her eyes downcast, while Lionel went on to tell them of what certain friends of his were going to do at Henley Regatta. After luncheon they went out into the garden, and took seats in the shade of the lilac-trees, in the sweet air. Old Mrs. Moore had for form's sake brought a book with her; but she was not likely to read much when the pride of her eyes had come down on a visit to her, and was now talking to her, in his off-hand, light-hearted way. Maurice Mangan had followed the doctor's example and pulled out his pipe--
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