helping you in your work, surrounded by millions and millions of bottles and all illuminated by thousands of bunsen-burners. I thought that perhaps if you found that I could be useful and careful you might let me stay—for a long time, I mean. Well, suddenly I heard that I was to come, and I was wild with it. Then—then, it was quite different, you know. I think it was because I thought more of coming than of Florrie being ill."
There were tears in his eyes—for Florrie I am sure. I have said before that he was the Henry of old again, but as he sat there in the uncertain light, shaken by this most unBobbie-like outburst, by my soul it was the living Mary who faced me. I think I have already declared that I have nothing to conceal throughout. I may be an ass; doubtless I am a middle-aged, solitary ass (which concerns that same cousin Mary), but I certainly did not feel one at the moment. Yet without any consideration of dignity, or any idea of what I should do next, I strode back to the table and kissed Bobbie on the top of the head. There was no need to consider what to do then, for after one single startled glance Bobbie dropped his face upon his arms among the breakfast-things and burst into a veritable storm of sobs.
I went at once. My last impression of the scene was a glimpse of Sir Walter's letter floating off the table on the crest of a noble wave of coffee.
••••••
Sir Walter Bent came the next day and we received him together. I said very little at all, which was doubtless the inspiration for the great man to remark blandly to me during a pause, "I hope, Mr. Troves, that you will excuse our talking 'shop'—'shop,' too, of a kind which I have reason to think is particularly trying to an outsider, but the remarkable interest of your nephew's discovery—" He waved his hand to indicate the rest.
