"A warm welcome, indeed," was the fiat of the college bred Miss Hannibal--"written in letters of fire; and such letters! So graceful and serpentine! and some of them quite new! Your own invention or modification without a doubt. Surely I have never seen anything in the shape of letters so perfectly unique!" After the fiery welcome there was a fountain. "Guests are supposed to be thirsty," remarked Dr. Orison. "That was a happy thought of yours, Mr. Bombs." "And you must have patterned it after the famous old Italian fountains," added his wife--"the royal ones that were filled with wines of all kinds and colors and sparkle and spirit also. You are a genius, Mr. Bombs." After that there were palm trees and Highland tartans, which were duly praised and commented upon. Then came the sun--the last of the fixed fireworks. Then the rotating ones--the firewheels and finally the whole solar system. After this there was an intermission of half an hour during which the guests were regaled with rare wines, cakes and cigars. Young Bombs shied away from the flattering spectators and went over to the secluded corner where Adelaide was sitting. He had a full goblet of wine in one hand and a choice Havana cigar in the other. He did not go because he was especially or magnetically drawn or wanted her society, but because he wanted no society. It had been something of a strain on his nerves to see that everything went off right and was effectively and harmoniously arranged, and the end was not yet. He was in no mood to listen to extravagant praise, and he knew where he would not get it. Adelaide still had the rose in hand and was enjoying its beauty--bestowing loving looks and lips upon it as well and inhaling its fragrance. "Nothing but a rose," said Bombs, after he had seated himself leisurely at her side and taken a sip of wine. "Nothing but a rose," repeated Adelaide; "but a rose is a great deal, Mr. Bombs. It is beauty, fragrance and color--soft and restful color." "O! I understand. I know you don't like fireworks, nor much of anything as yet--that is in the line of human invention." "I like human inventions but I don't like inhuman ones that dazzle my eyes out. I think they would make me stone blind if I _had_ to look at them long at a time." Mr. Bombs looked at her fixedly while he continued to sip the wine. He noticed for the first time that her eyes were of the palest blue and her hair of the palest gold and wondered if there was anything in her physical makeup that made it naturally antagonistic to fiery display. "Did the doves hate fireworks and did the serpents like them?" was the question he asked himself. "Perhaps you will like my new piece better," he remarked after he had finished the wine. "Tourbillions are a higher form of Pyro." "When is your new piece going to be spoken?" laughed Adelaide. "At the end, of course. You hadn't better _retire_--it might wake you up. It will be huge, Miss Adelaide."