"'Indeed,' I murmured. "'You are not listening,' he said. "I only half heard him. I could not turn my eyes from his daughter's face. "'Cat!' shouted the bald one, and I almost leaped from my chair. 'Are you deaf?' he inquired, sympathetically. "'No--oh no!' I replied, coloring with confusion; 'you were--pardon me--you were--er--speaking of the dodo. Extraordinary bird that--' "'I was not discussing the dodo,' he sighed. 'I was speaking of cats.' "'Of course,' I said. "'The question is,' he continued, twisting his frayed coat-tails into a sort of rope--'the question is, how are we to ameliorate the present condition and social status of our domestic cats?' "'Feed 'em,' I suggested. "He raised both hands. They were eloquent with patient expostulation. 'I mean their spiritual condition,' he said. "I nodded, but my eyes reverted to that exquisite face. She sat silent, her eyes fixed on the waning flecks of color in the western sky. "'Yes,' repeated the bald one, 'the spiritual welfare of our domestic cats.' "'Toms and tabbies?' I murmured. "'Exactly,' he said, tying a large knot in his coat-tails. "'You will ruin your coat,' I observed. "'Papa!' exclaimed the girl, turning in dismay, as that gentleman gave a guilty start, 'stop it at once!' "He smiled apologetically and made a feeble attempt to conceal his coat-tails. "'My dear,' he said, with gentle deprecation, 'I am so absent-minded--I always do it in the heat of argument.' "The girl rose, and, bending over her untidy parent, deftly untied the knot in his flapping coat. When he was disentangled, she sat down and said, with a ghost of a smile, 'He is so very absent-minded.' "'Your father is evidently a great student,' I ventured, pleasantly. How I pitied her, tied to this old lunatic! "'Yes, he is a great student,' she said, quietly. "'I am,' he murmured; 'that's what makes me so absent-minded. I often go to bed and forget to sleep.' Then, looking at me, he asked me my name, adding, with a bow, that his name was P. Royal Wyeth, Professor of Pythagorean Research and Abstruse Paradox. "'My first name is Penny--named after Professor Penny, of Harvard,' he said; 'but I seldom use my first name in connection with my second, as the combination suggests a household remedy of penetrating odor.' "'My name is Kensett,' I said, 'Harold Kensett, of New York.' "'Student?' "'Er--a little.' "'Student of diamonds?' "I smiled. 'Oh, I see you know who my great-aunt was,' I said. "'I know her,' he said. "'Ah--perhaps you are unaware that my great-aunt is not now living.' "'I know her,' he repeated, obstinately. "I bowed. What a crank he was! "'What do you study? You don't fiddle away all your time, do you?' he asked.