“God bless her!” I echoed. “And good night to you!” I pressed his hand, and left him. “Lady Muriel,” I said softly to myself as I went homewards, “truly you know how to ‘mak’ amends’!” Seated once more by my lonely fireside, I tried to recall the strange vision of the night before, and to conjure up the face of the dear old Professor among the blazing coals. “That black one—with just a touch of red—would suit him well,” I thought. “After such a catastrophe, it would be sure to be covered with black stains—and he would say:— “The result of _that_ combination—you may have noticed?—was an _Explosion_! Shall I repeat the Experiment?” “No, no! Don’t trouble yourself!” was the general cry. And we all trooped off, in hot haste, to the Banqueting-Hall, where the feast had already begun. No time was lost in helping the dishes, and very speedily every guest found his plate filled with good things. “I have always maintained the principle,” the Professor began, “that it is a good rule to take some food—occasionally. The great advantage of dinner-parties——” he broke off suddenly. “Why, actually here’s the Other Professor!” he cried. “And there’s no place left for him!” [Illustration: THE OTHER PROFESSOR’S FALL] The Other Professor came in reading a large book, which he held close to his eyes. One result of his not looking where he was going was that he tripped up, as he crossed the Saloon, flew up into the air, and fell heavily on his face in the middle of the table. “_What_ a pity!” cried the kind-hearted Professor, as he helped him up. “It wouldn’t be _me_, if I didn’t trip,” said the Other Professor. The Professor looked much shocked. “Almost _anything_ would be better than _that_!” he exclaimed. “It never does,” he added, aside to Bruno, “to be anybody else, does it?” To which Bruno gravely replied “I’s got nuffin on my plate.” The Professor hastily put on his spectacles, to make sure that the _facts_ were all right, to begin with: then he turned his jolly round face upon the unfortunate owner of the empty plate. “And what would you like next, my little man?” “Well,” Bruno said, a little doubtfully, “I think I’ll take some plum-pudding, please—while I think of it.” “Oh, Bruno!” (This was a whisper from Sylvie.) “It isn’t good manners to ask for a dish before it comes!” And Bruno whispered back “But I might forget to ask for some, when it comes, oo know—I _do_ forget things, sometimes,” he added, seeing Sylvie about to whisper more. And _this_ assertion Sylvie did not venture to contradict.