Sue shook her head, but Mrs. Brainard went to the door, followed by Atchison and Miss Forrest. They looked out upon a low-ceiled, lamp-lighted room, in absolute order, in which was not a trace of the late festival-making except the piles of clean dishes upon the table, under which lay Bim, nose on paws, alert eyes on the strangers. "Magic?" queried Mrs. Brainard. "Surely those noisy boys couldn't accomplish such a miracle?" "Never. Though I suspect they were put to work by a good general, for the borrowed chairs are gone and so are several other bulky articles. There's no difficulty in guessing who did the deed," said Brown, busy with his coffee-making. He served his guests presently with a beverage which made Atchison exclaim: "The old chap certainly knows how to make the best stuff I ever drank. When I tasted this brew first I invited myself to come out and stay a week with him, but he wouldn't have me." "You're too polished an article for his hand; he wants his work-stuff raw," Doctor Brainard said again. Evidently this point rankled. Brown looked up. "I'll challenge you to stay and have it out with me, Doctor," said he. "Thank you, I came for no other purpose," retorted the doctor coolly. "These people brought me up to have a look at you, and I'm not going back till morning." "That's great!" Brown's face showed his pleasure. XI BROWN'S PRESENT WORLD When Miss Forrest returned from her survey of the kitchen she had come straight to the corner of the hearth where Brown stood, and had taken the chair beside the one he had lately occupied. He was therefore beside her when he sat down to drink his coffee with his guests. At a moment when Webb Atchison and Sue Breckenridge were engaged in a bit of controversy over the relative merits of varying methods of coffee making, Helena Forrest turned to Brown, who had been looking into the fire without speaking. "I hope you don't really mind our coming up here to-night," she said. "Mind it? If I did, I couldn't blame you, for you came against your will," he answered--and his eyes were no longer upon the fire. "Without my consent, but not, perhaps, against my will." He regarded her intently. She met his look without turning aside. "You felt a curiosity to see the hermit in his cell," was his explanation of the matter. She nodded. "Of course. Who wouldn't, after such reports as Mrs. Breckenridge brought back?" "And now that you have seen him--you are consumed with pity?" "No. If I am consumed with anything it is with envy." His low laugh spoke his disbelief. She read it in the sound and in the way his gaze left her face and went back to the fire. "You don't think I mean that," said she. "Hardly." "Why not?" "It is--inconceivable." "Why?" Her face, turned toward him, invited him to look at it again, but he did not--just then. "Because you are--Helena Forrest," he answered. "And what is she, please, in your opinion?" "An inhabitant of another world than that I live in."