and indicatively,  "My father."  What
eloquence!  The doctor was in the room, but
his daughter had dazzled me, and I had
not seen him.  I bowed—I stammered—I
was at a loss for expressions.  O Cupid!
think of the interests of the Duskydale
Institution!  Chubby tyrant of the bow and
arrow, give me back enough of my former
self to sell two tickets, at least!  She spoke
again:

"The gentleman who is secretary to the
new Institution, I believe?"

How profoundly true!  She smiled upon
me; she saw the damage she had done, and
tenderly repaired it.  I thawed—I expanded
under the treatment.  My faculties came
back to me.  I ceased to blush; I explained
my errand; I became as agreeable and as
gallant as ever.

Her father answered.  Having partially
recovered my senses, I was able to observe
him.  A tall, stout gentleman, with impressive
respectability oozing out of him at every
pore—with a swelling outline of black-
waistcoated stomach, with a lofty forehead,
with a smooth double chin resting pulpily on
a white cravat.  Everything in harmony
about him except his eyes, and these were so
sharp, bright, and resolute, that they seemed
to contradict the bland conventionality which
overspread all the rest of the man.  Eyes
with wonderful intelligence and self-dependence
in them; perhaps, also, with something a
little false in them, which I might have
discovered immediately under ordinary
circumstances: but I looked at the doctor through
the medium of his daughter, and saw nothing
of him at the first glance but his merits.

"We are both very much indebted to you,
sir, for your politeness in calling," he said,
with excessive civility of manner.  "But our
stay at this place has drawn to an end.  I
only came here for the re-establishment of my
daughter's health.  She has benefited greatly
by the change of air, and we have arranged
to return home to-morrow.  Otherwise, we
should have gladly profited by your kind
offer of tickets for the ball."

Of course I had one eye on the young lady
while he was speaking.  She was looking at
her father, and a strange sadness was stealing
over her face.  What did that mean?
Disappointment at missing the ball?  No, it was
a much deeper feeling than that.  My curiosity
was excited.  I addressed a complimentary
entreaty to the doctor not to take his
daughter away from us.  I asked him to
reflect on the irreparable eclipse that he
would be casting over the Duskydale
ballroom.  To my amazement, Miss Knapton
only looked down gloomily on her work ,
while I spoke, and her father laughed
contemptuously.

"We are too completely strangers here,"
he said, "for our loss to be felt by any one.
From all that I can gather, society in Duskydale
will be glad to hear of our departure."

Miss Knapton looked more gloomily than
before.  I protested against the doctor's last
words.  He laughed again, with a quick,
distrustful look, this time, at his daughter.

"If you were to mention my name among
your respectable inhabitants,"  he went on,
with a strong, sneering emphasis on the word
respectable, "they would most likely purse
up their lips and look grave at it.  Since I
gave up practice as a physician, I have
engaged in chemical investigations on a large
scale, destined, I hope, to lead to some
important public results.  Until I arrive at
these, I am necessarily obliged, in my own
interests, to keep my experiments secret, and
to impose similar discretion on the workmen
whom I employ.  This unavoidable appearance
of mystery, and the strictly retired life
which my studies oblige me to lead, offend
the narrow-minded people in my part of the
county, close to Barkingham; and the
unpopularity of my pursuits has followed me
here.  The general opinion, I believe, is, that
I am seeking by unholy arts for the philosopher's
stone.  Plain man, as you see me, I
find myself getting quite the reputation of
a Doctor Faustus in the popular mind.  Even
educated people in this very place shake their
heads and pity my daughter Laura there for
living with an alchemical parent, within easy
smelling-distance of an explosive laboratory.
Excessively absurd, is it not?"

It might have been excessively absurd;
but the lovely Laura sat with her eyes on
her work, looking as if it were excessively sad,
and not giving her father the faintest
answering smile when he glanced towards
her and laughed, as he said his last words.  I
could not at all tell what to make of it.  The
doctor talked of the social consequences of
his chemical inquiries as if we were living in
the middle ages.  However, I was far too
anxious to see the charming brown eyes
again to ask questions which would be sure
to keep them cast down.  So I changed the
topic to chemistry in general; and, to the
doctor's evident astonishment and pleasure,
told him of my own early studies in the
science.  This led to the mention of my father,
whose reputation had reached the ears of
Doctor Knapton.  As he told me that, his
daughter looked up—the sun of beauty
shone on me again!  I touched next on my
high connections, and on Lady Malkinshaw;
I described myself as temporarily banished
from home for humorous caricaturing, and
amiable youthful wildness.  She was
interested; she smiled—and the sun of beauty
shone warmer than ever!  I diverged to general
topics, and got brilliant and amusing. She
laughed—the nightingale-notes of her merriment
bubbled into my ears caressingly—why
could I not shut my eyes to listen to them!
Her colour rose; her face grew animated.
Poor soul!  A little lively company was but
too evidently a rare treat to her.  Under
such circumstances, who would not be