CHAPTER ELEVEN
The Peacemaker
THE CHILDREN thought they had never seen a kinder face or more noble bearing than that of the Professor of Conchology, but the Mer Princess could not bear to look at him. She now felt what Mavis had felt when Cathay failed to recognize her—the misery of being looked at without recognition by the eyes that we know and love. She turned away, and pretended to be looking at the leaves of the seaweed hedge while Mavis and Francis were arranging to take lessons in Conchology three days a week, from two to four.
"You had better join a class," said the Professor, "you will learn less that way."
"But we want to learn," said Mavis.
And the Professor looked at her very searchingly and said, "Do you?"
"Yes," she said, "at least—"
"Yes," he said, "I quite understand. I am only an exiled Professor, teaching Conchology to youthful aliens, but I retain some remnants of the wisdom of my many years. I know that I am not what I seem, and that you are not what you seem, and that
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