“Laddie,” said the Professor, tearfully, “my life is not an enviable one even now. My own daughter—Soft!—she comes.” It occurred to Erb later that in his anxiety to show himself a careless, self-possessed fellow, he rather overdid it, presenting himself in the light of one slightly demented. He nodded his head on formal introduction by the Professor, hummed a cheerful air, and, taking out a packet of cigarette papers, blew at one, and recollecting, twisted the detached slip into a butterfly shape and puffed it to the ceiling. The girl looked at him, at her father, then again at Erb. She had a pencil resting between the buttons of her pink blouse, and but for a slight contraction of the forehead that is the public sign of private worry, would have been a very happy-looking young person indeed. “A would-be student,” said her father with a proud wave of the hand towards Erb, as though he had just made him, “a would-be student, my love: one anxious to gain at our hands the principles of voice pro-duction and ee-locution.” “When do you propose to begin, sir?” she asked, limping slightly as she went to a desk. “Soon as your father’s ready, miss.” “I have heard you speak in the park.” “Most people have!” replied Erb, with a fine assumption of indifference. “I’ll just register your name, please.” “Our sys-tem,” said the Professor oracularly, as Erb bent over her and gave the information (there was a pleasant warm scent from her hair), “is to conduct everything in a perfectly businesslike manner. I remember on one occasion Mr. Phelps said to me, ‘Danks, my dear young friend, never, never—’ My dear Rosalind, give me the word. What was it,” the Professor tapped his large forehead reprovingly, “what was it I was talking about?” “I don’t think it matters, father. You pay in advance, please,” she said to Erb. “Thank you. I’m not sure that I have sufficient change in the house.” “I will step down the road,” suggested the Professor with a slight excess of eagerness, “and obtain the necessary—” “No, father.” “Think I’ve got just enough silver,” said Erb. “Thank you, Mr. Barnes.” Good to be called Mister, better still to find it accompanied by a smile of gratitude that somehow also intimated comradeship and a defensive alliance against the ingenious Professor. The Professor, affecting to examine a pimple on his chin at the mirror, looked at his daughter’s reflection in an appealing way; but she shook her head quickly. The Professor sighed and, turning back the cuffs of his shirt, put on an elderly velvet jacket. “I have some work to do downstairs,” she said, with a curt little bow to Erb. “You will excuse me.” “Only too pleased, miss,” he said blunderingly. “Father, you will give Mr. Barnes an hour, please, in the front room. I will come up when the time is—” “Then I needn’t say good-bye,” remarked Erb gallantly.