"My dear fellow," observed the other, earnestly, "a good dinner is the very best preparation in the world for a good supper." "I hear Lady Adela has sent you her book; have you looked at it?" Lionel asked. "Yes, I have," said the other, with his mouth full of lobster-salad. "Capital! I call it capital! Plenty of _verve_ and go--knowledge of society--nobody can do that kind of thing like the people who are actually living in it. Her characters are the people one really meets, you know--they are in the world--they belong to life. Oh, yes, a capital novel! Light, airy, amusing, sparkling--I tell you it will be the book of the season!" "Oh, I'm very glad to hear that," said Lionel, thoughtfully; and then he went and got his light overcoat and crush-hat, and descended the wide stone-steps, and made his way home to his rooms in Piccadilly. CHAPTER V. WARS AND RUMORS. Little could Lionel Moore have anticipated what was to come of his introducing his old comrade Nina to the New Theatre. At first all went well; and even the prima-donna herself was so good as to extend her patronage to Lionel's _protegee_; insomuch that, arriving rather early at the theatre one evening, and encountering Nina in the corridor, she said to her, "You come into my room, and I'll show you my make-up." It was a friendly offer; and the young Italian girl, who was working hard in every way to fit herself for the stage, was glad to be initiated still further into these mysteries of the toilet. But when she had followed Miss Burgoyne into the sacred inner room, and when the dresser had been told she should not be wanted yet awhile, Nina, who was far from being a stupid person, began to perceive what had prompted this sudden invitation. For Miss Burgoyne, as she was throwing off her things, and getting ready for her stage-transformation, kept plying her guest with all sorts of cunning little questions about Mr. Moore--questions which had no apparent motive, it is true, so carelessly were they asked; but Nina, even as she answered, was shrewd enough to understand. "So you might call yourself quite an old friend of his," the prima-donna continued, busying herself at the dressing-table. "Well, what do you think of him now?" "How, Miss Burgoyne?" Nina said.