arply, the third time with scrutiny. He knew how to
make a crescendo. The curate noticed it, as of course the professor
intended. He did not know who Stepton was, but he began to wonder about
this birdlike, sharp-looking man, who evidently took an interest in him.
And presently his wonder changed into suspicion. This again accorded with
the professor's intention.

One day, after the even-song at St. Joseph's, Stepton saw flit across
the face of the curate, whom he was meeting, a flicker of something
like fear. The two men passed each other, and immediately, like one
irresistibly compelled, the professor looked back. As he did so,
Chichester also turned round to spy upon this unknown. Encountering
the gaze of the professor, he started, flushed scarlet, and pursued his
way, walking with a quickened step.

The professor went homeward, chuckling.

"To-day's Tuesday," he thought. "By Saturday, at latest, he'll have
spoken to me. He'll have to speak to me to relieve the tension of his
nerve-ganglions."

Chichester did not wait till Saturday. On Friday afternoon, coming
suddenly upon Stepton at a corner, he stopped abruptly, and said:

"May I ask if you want anything of me?"

"Sir!" barked Stepton. "Mr. Chichester!"

"You know my name?" said the curate.

"And probably you know mine--Professor Stepton."

A relief that was evidently intense dawned in the curate's face.

"You are Professor Stepton! You are Mr. Malling's friend!"

"Exactly. Good day."

And the professor marched on.

Chichester did not follow, but the next day, on the pavement not far from
the museum, he stopped once more in front of the professor with a "Good
afternoon."

"Good day," said Stepton.

"Since you know who I am," began the curate, "and I have heard so much of
you, I hope you will forgive me for asking you something."

"Certainly."

"What is it in me which has attracted your attention?"

"I wish I knew," returned the professor.

"You wish you knew! Do you mean that you don't know?"

"I don't know at all."

"But--but--you--I was not wrong in feeling sure that you were--that
something in me had aroused your attention?"

"Not wrong at all; but 'something' is not the word."

"What is the word?"

"Everything. Everything in you rouses my attention, Mr. Chichester. But
I can't think why."

"Did you know I was Mr. Harding's curate the first time you met me?"

"Yes; I had seen you at St. Joseph's once or twice when I came to hea