"The Professor and I," she remarked, blandly, "have observed with much satisfaction your devotion to our daughters. We know you to be a man of character, and we know that it would be far from your intentions to trifle with the feelings of the dear, innocent and unsophisticated creatures. But our German custom, as you may not be aware, is to confine one's courtship to one, and not to scatter one's devotion among too many. In other countries that may be different, but as you have come here to learn German manners, I thought I would call your attention to this, and ask you to tell me, in strict confidence, of course, to which one of my daughters you are paying your addresses." If the ceiling had tumbled down over his head, Grover could not have been more astonished. It was a fact, he had been almost a daily visitor in the Professor's house; he had very likely, in unguarded moments, in order to practice his imperfect German, made complimentary speeches to the three young ladies, individually and collectively; and in all probability he had, from a German point of view, given the Frau Professorin the right to talk to him as she did. And yet, to submit readily to the consequences of his rash conduct did not for a moment occur to him. His instinct bade him rather resort to a stratagem, which, as he concluded, the dire necessity would justify. "Frau Professorin," he began solemnly, "I need scarcely assure you that I feel greatly honored by what you have told me. But the fact is, I am not free. I am engaged." "Engaged!" cried the Frau Professorin, starting forward in her chair. "Why, then, did you not tell me that?" "It is a secret engagement." "A secret engagement! And do your parents know of it?" "They do not." "And the lady's name?" "Miss--Miss--Jones." Grover had no genius for mendacity and he was already beginning to repent of his daring fiction. But Mrs. Bornholm, suddenly possessed with some luminous idea, proceeded mercilessly in her cross-examination, feeling that her position, as the wronged party, gave her a right to trample upon conventionalities. "Is this Miss Jones musical?" she queried eagerly. "Yes," he replied vaguely; "that is, I believe so." "You will excuse me," she went on; "but I am naturally much interested in this unknown person, because of my interest in you. Would you mind telling me if she is dark or a blonde?" "She is dark." "One thing more; have you written to her recently?" "No; not very recently." "And has she ever said anything to you about coming here?" "Not a word." The Professorin arose with a triumphant nod and began to pace the floor. "Miss Jones is a brunette, musical and rich--I suppose she is rich?" she repeated, with an interrogative glance at Grover. "She is not poor," he responded feebly. "Good," said his tormentor fiercely, and nodding again with great emphasis, "very good."