ember very well."

"A friend of mine brought a friend of his to see me this afternoon, and
the man himself is coming to-morrow."

"What is his name?" asked the lady-companion.

"I am sure I don't know, but Mr. Barker says he is very eccentric. He is
very rich, and yet he lives in a garret in Heidelberg and wishes he were
poor."

"Are you quite sure he is in his right mind, dear Countess?"

Margaret looked kindly at Miss Skeat. Poor lady! she had been rich once,
and had not lived in a garret. Money to her meant freedom and
independence. Not that she was unhappy with Margaret, who was always
thoughtful and considerate, and valued her companion as a friend; but
she would rather have lived with Margaret feeling it was a matter of
choice and not of necessity, for she came of good Scottish blood, and
was very proud.

"Oh yes!" answered the younger lady; "he is very learned and
philosophical, and I am sure you will like him. If he is at all
civilised we will have him to dinner."

"By all means," said Miss Skeat with alacrity. She liked intelligent
society, and the Countess had of late indulged in a rather prolonged fit
of solitude. Miss Skeat took the last novel--one of Tourgueneff's--from
the table and, armed with a paper-cutter, began to read to her
ladyship.

It was late when Mr. Barker found Claudius scribbling equations on a
sheet of the hotel letter-paper. The Doctor looked up pleasantly at his
friend. He could almost fancy he had missed his society a little; but
the sensation was too novel a one to be believed genuine.

"Did you find your friends?" he inquired.

"Yes, by some good luck. It is apt to be the other people one finds, as
a rule."

"Cynicism is not appropriate to your character, Mr. Barker."

"No. I hate cynical men. It is generally affectation, and it is always
nonsense. But I think the wrong people have a way of turning up at the
wrong moment." After a pause, during which Mr. Barker lighted a cigar
and extended his thin legs and trim little feet on a chair in front of
him, he continued:

"Professor, have you a very strong and rooted dislike to the society of
women?"

Assailed by this point-blank question, the Doctor put his bit of paper
inside his book, and drumming on the table with his pencil, considered a
moment. Mr. Barker puffed at his cigar with great regularity.

"No," said Claudius at last, "certainly not. To woman man owes his life,
and to woman he ought to owe his happiness. Wi