We're off by special in the morning."
"That's fine!" said the scientist.
But Miss Polly Brewster caught the turn of his head in her
direction, and saw that his fork had slackened in his hand.
Something tightened around her heart.
As he went, her father considered her for a moment, and wondered.
Never before had he seen such a look in her eyes as that which she
had turned on the queer, vivid stranger so busily engaged at the
tray. Polly, and this obscure scientist! After the kind of men
whom the girl had known, enslaved, and eluded! Absurd! Yet if it
were to be--Mr. Brewster reviewed the events of the afternoon--
well, it might be worse.
"By the Lord Harry, he's a MAN, anyway!" decided Thatcher
Brewster.
Meanwhile, the subject of his musings began to feel like a man
once more, instead of like a lath. Having wrought havoc among the
edibles, he rose with a sigh.
"If I could have one hour's sleep," he said mournfully, "I'd be
fit as a cricket."
"You shall," said the girl. "Mr. Sherwen says he won't let you out
of the house until it's dark. And that's fully an hour."
"I ought to be on my way back now.
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