Dr. Ross took my pretty gordit, and examined it narrowly, carrying it to the window to get a stronger light. "Beyond a doubt," he said at last, "it is the finest in Europe. I have only seen one to compare with it, and that had a flaw in the centre. Will you part with it, Miss Valence?" "No; I have promised never to do that." "Then I must say no more; but I should have been proud to add it to my collection." "To carry it about with you, you mean, Pappy. You know you are a superstitious old Pappy, in spite of all your learning." Weak as my eyes were, I could see the scowl of deep displeasure in his. Isola was frightened: she knew she had gone too far. She did not even dare to offer the kiss of peace. No more was said about it, and I turned the conversation to some other subject. But when he rose to depart, I found a pretext for keeping Isola with me. "Good-bye for the present, Miss Valence," Dr. Ross said gracefully--he did everything but scowl with an inborn grace--"I hope that your very first journey in quest of natural history will terminate at my house. I cannot show you much, but shall truly enjoy going over my little collection with you whenever you find that your sight is strong enough. Meanwhile, let me earnestly warn you to abstain from chemical experiments"--this was the cause of my injury assigned by Mrs. Shelfer--"until you have a competent director. Isola, good-bye. I will send Cora for you in good time for tea. Your attendance at lecture will be excused." All my interest in the subjects he had discussed, and in his mode of treating them, all my admiration of his shrewd intellectual face, did not prevent my feeling it a relief when he was gone. He was not at all like his children. About them there was something so winning and unpretentious, few could help liking them at first sight. They did all they could to please, but without any visible effort. But with the Professor, in spite of all his elegance and politeness, I could not help perceiving that he was not doing his best, that he scorned to put forth his powers when there was neither antagonist nor (in his opinion) duly qualified listener. Nevertheless I could have told him some things he did not know concerning lichens and mosses. When I was left with my favourite Isola, that gentle senior sophist seemed by no means disconsolate at her Papa’s departure. She loved him and was proud of him, but there were times, as she told me, when she was quite afraid of him. "Would you believe it, dear, that I could be afraid of old Pappy?"--his age was about four and forty--"It is very wicked I know, but how am I to help it? Were you like that with your Papa, when he was alive?" "No, I should think not. But I am not at all sure that he wasn’t afraid of me." "Oh, how nice that must be! But it is my fault, isn’t it?" I could not well have told her, even if I had known it, that the fault in such cases is almost always on the parent’s side.