He confidently expected some sign of confusion, but there was no sign. "Father was delighted with him," she said merrily. "He took an interest in the work father's doing--and that was enough." She was about to turn back to her task. He hastened to ask another question. "Couldn't I meet your father some time? What Tetlow told me interested me greatly." "Father would be awfully pleased," replied she. "But--unless you really care about--biology, I don't think you'd like coming." "I'm interested in everything interesting," replied Norman dizzily. What was he saying? What was he doing? What folly was his madness plunging him into? "You can come with Mr. Tetlow when he gets back." "I'd prefer to talk with him alone," said Norman. "Perhaps I might see some way to be of service to him." Her expression was vividly different from what it had been when he offered to help _her_. She became radiant with happiness. "I do hope you'll come," she said--her voice very low and sweet, in the effort she was making to restrain yet express her feelings. "When? This evening?" "He's always at home." "You'll be there?" "I'm always there, too. We have no friends. It's not easy to make acquaintances in the East--congenial acquaintances." "I'd want you to be there," he explained with great care, "because you could help him and me in getting acquainted." "Oh, he'll talk freely--to anyone. He talks only the one subject. He never thinks of anything else." She was resting her crossed arms on the back of her chair and, with her chin upon them, was looking at him--a childlike pose and a childlike expression. He said: "You are _sure_ you are twenty?" She smiled gayly. "Nearly twenty-one." "Old enough to be in love." She lifted her head and laughed. She had charming white teeth--small and sharp and with enough irregularity to carry out her general suggestion of variability. "Yes, I shall like that, when it comes," she said; "But the chances are against it just now." "There's Tetlow." She was much amused. "Oh, he's far too old and serious." Norman felt depressed. "Why, he's only thirty-five." "But I'm not twenty-one," she reminded him. "I'd want some one of my own age. I'm tired of being so solemn. If I had love, I'd expect it to change all that." Evidently a forlorn and foolish person--and doubtless thinking of him, two years the senior of Tetlow and far more serious, as an elderly person, in the same class with her father. "But you like biology?" he said. The way to a cure was to make her talk on. "I don't know anything about it," said she, looking as frivolous as a butterfly or a breeze-bobbed blossom. "I listen to father, but it's all beyond me."