had vanished with his
hat and cloak. The excited empiric of the dark-room was a creature of
that ruby light alone. Dr. Baumgartner was shaved and clad like other
men, the iron-grey hair carefully brushed back from a lofty forehead, all
traces of strong acids removed from his well-kept hands. There was a
third person, and only a third, at table in the immature shape of a young
lady whom the doctor introduced as his niece Miss Platts, and addressed as
Phillida.

Pocket thought he had never heard of nobler atonement for unmitigable
surname. He could not help thinking that this Phillida did not look the
one to flout a fellow, after the fashion of the only other Phillida he had
ever heard of, and then that it was beastly cheek to start thinking of her
like that and by her Christian name. But he was of the age and
temperament when thoughts will come of contact with young animals of the
opposite sex. He looked at her sidelong from time to time, but all four
eyes dropped directly they met; she seemed as shy and uninteresting as
himself; her conversation was confined to table attentions to her uncle
and his guest.

Pocket made more valiant attempts. A parlour billiard-table, standing
against the wall, supplied an irresistible topic. "We have a full-size
table at home," he said, and could have mutilated his tongue that instant.
"I like a small one best," he assured the doctor, who shook his head and
smiled.

"Honestly, sir, and snob-cricket better than the real thing! I'm no good
at real games."

The statement was too true, but not the preference.

"That must be awkward for you, at an English public school," was the
doctor's comment.

Pocket heaved an ingenuous sigh. It was hateful. He blamed the asthma as
far as modesty would permit. He was modest enough in his breakfast-table
talk, yet nervously egotistical, and apt to involve himself in lengthy
explanations. He had two types of listener--the dry and the demure--to all
he said.

"And they let you come up to London alone!" remarked Dr. Baumgartner when
he got a chance.

"But it wasn't their fault that I----"

Pocket stopped at a glance from his host, and plunged into profuse
particulars exonerating his house-master, but was cut short again.
Evidently the niece was not to know where he had spent the night.

"I suppose there are a number of young men at your--establishment?" said
the doctor, exchanging a glance with Miss Platts.

"There are over four hun