ar and had
flirted awhile with Themis, would yet turn his great and growing
abilities to the service of Science.

And Mrs. Rossiter in those times: Vivie smiled at the thought of her
undefined jealousy. She was anxious to be civil to a young man of
whom Michael thought so highly. She sympathized with his regret that
they had no children, but why could he not take up with one of her
cousin Bennet's boys from Manchester, or Sophy's son from
Northallerton, or one of his own brother's or sister's children? How
on earth did he become acquainted with this young man from South
Wales? But she was determined not to be separated in any way from
her husband, and so she sat with them as often and as long as she
could in the library. The studio-laboratory she could not stand with
its horrid smell of chemicals; she also dreaded vaguely that
vivisection went on there--Michael of course had a license, though
he was far too tender-hearted to torture sentient creatures. Still
he did odd things with frogs and rats and goats and monkeys; and her
dread was that she might one day burst in on one of these sacrifices
to science and see a transformed Michael, blood-stained, wielding a
knife and dangerous if interrupted in his pursuit of a discovery.

But as the long talks and conferences of the two friends--really not
so far separated in age as one of them thought--generally took place
in the library, she assisted at a large proportion of them. Rossiter
would not have had it otherwise, though to David she was at times
excessively irksome. Her husband had long viewed her as a lay figure
on these occasions. He rarely replied to her flat remarks, her
inconsequent platitudes, her yawns and quite transparent signals
that it was time for the visitor to go. Sometimes David took her
hints and left: he had no business to make himself a bore to any
one. Sometimes however Michael at last roused to consciousness of
the fretful little presence would say "What? Sweety? _You_ still up.
Trot off to bed, my poppet, or you'll lose the roses in your
cheeks."

The roses in Mrs. Rossiter's cheeks at that time were beginning to
be a trifle eczematous and of a fixed quality. Nevertheless, though
she tossed her head a little as she took up her "work" and swished
out of the great heavy door--which David opened--she was pleased to
think that Michael cared for her complexion and was solicitous about
her rest.

And Vivie's eyes swam a little as she thought about the