With courage and the determination to look only on the bright side of things, almost any domestic drawback can be lived down. But the real point, as he instantly recognised, was whether in the changed condition of circumstances Sylvia would consent to marry _him_. Might she not, after the experiences of that abominable dinner of his the night before, connect him in some way with her poor father's transformation? She might even suspect him of employing this means of compelling the Professor to renew their engagement; and, indeed, Horace was by no means certain himself that the Jinnee might not have acted from some muddle-headed motive of this kind. It was likely enough that the Professor, after learning the truth, should have refused to allow his daughter to marry the _protege_ of so dubious a patron, and that Fakrash had then resorted to pressure. In any case, Ventimore knew Sylvia well enough to feel sure that pride would steel her heart against him so long as this obstacle remained. It would be unseemly to set down here all that Horace said and thought of the person who had brought all this upon them, but after some wild and futile raving he became calm enough to recognise that his proper place was by Sylvia's side. Perhaps he ought to have told her at first, and then she would have been less unprepared for this--and yet how could he trouble her mind so long as he could cling to the hope that the Jinnee would cease to interfere? But now he could be silent no longer; naturally the prospect of calling at Cottesmore Gardens just then was anything but agreeable, but he felt it would be cowardly to keep away. Besides, he could cheer them up; he could bring with him a message of hope. No doubt they believed that the Professor's transformation would be permanent--a harrowing prospect for so united a family; but, fortunately, Horace would be able to reassure them on this point. Fakrash had always revoked his previous performances as soon as he could be brought to understand their fatuity--and Ventimore would take good care that he revoked this. Nevertheless, it was with a sinking heart and an unsteady hand that he pulled the visitors' bell at the Futvoyes' house that afternoon, for he neither knew in what state he should find that afflicted family, nor how they would regard his intrusion at such a time. CHAPTER XII THE MESSENGER OF HOPE Jessie, the neat and pretty parlour-maid, opened the door with a smile of welcome which Horace found reassuring. No girl, he thought, whose master had suddenly been transformed into a mule could possibly smile like that. The Professor, she told him, was not at home, which again was comforting. For a _savant_, however careless about his personal appearance, would scarcely venture to brave public opinion in the semblance of a quadruped. "Is the Professor out?" he inquired, to make sure.