"You bring me a specimen," interrupted Mr. Thornton, his small black eyes kindling. "A Melolo--!" "A specimen of humanity," interrupted Cornelius,--"a child." "A child!" echoed Mr. Thornton, whose look for the first time fell on me; "and a little girl, too!" he added, throwing himself back in his chair with mingled disgust and wonder. "She is ten,--an orphan; and I have brought her to you as to her natural protector," composedly observed Cornelius. Mr. Thornton looked unconvinced. "She may be ten,--an orphan; but I don't see why you bring her to me." "You do not know?" "No, Sir; I am said to be a learned man, but in this point I confess my ignorance." Without heeding his impatience, Cornelius calmly replied, "I have brought her to you, Sir, because she is your grand-daughter." Mr. Thornton gave a jump that nearly upset the table; but promptly recovering, and feeling irritated, perhaps, in proportion to his momentary emotion, he observed, in an irascible tone, "I am amazed at you, Sir! Not satisfied with introducing yourself to me as a scientific man from London,--a fact directly contradicted by your juvenile appearance,--you want to palm off your little girls upon me! My grand- daughter!--Sir, I have no grand-daughter." The look of Cornelius kindled; but he controlled his temper, to say, quietly, "If you had taken, Sir, the trouble to read a letter which I regret to see lying on your table with the seal unbroken, you would have learned that this is the child of Mr. Thornton's daughter, who has been dead some years, and of Dr. Edward Burns, who died the other day, killed by a fall from his horse." Mr. Thornton did not answer; he took a letter lying on a pile of books, broke the seal, read it through; then laid it down, and looked thoughtful. "Well, Sir!" he observed, after a pause; and speaking now in the tone of a man of the world, "I acknowledge my mistake, and beg your pardon. But I never read business letters, for one of which I took yours." He spoke very civilly, but said not a word concerning the subject of the letter; of which, quite as civilly, Cornelius reminded him. "The statements made in that letter require some proof," he observed, "and--" "Your word suffices," interrupted Mr. Thornton, very politely. "I am satisfied." Cornelius bowed, but persisted. "I have not the honour of being personally known to you, Sir; I would rather--" "Sir, one gentleman is quick to recognize another gentleman," again interrupted Mr. Thornton; "I am quite satisfied." He bowed a little ironically; and again Cornelius bent his head in acknowledgment, observing, with a smile beneath which lurked not ungraceful raillery,--