In regard to these insinuations, I can only speak of my own experience. On three occasions (two of them were appointments) I went to Dunlevy’s door and I tapped and I knocked and I pronounced words in vain like Ali Baba’s brother in the robbers’ cave. Another night late, I went unexpectedly to his door and met the janitor of the dormitory coming out of his rooms. He said that a student had told him that he saw flames coming out of Mr. Dunlevy’s windows. I supposed it was merely a practical joke that some undergraduates had put upon the janitor in order to disturb Dunlevy. I prevailed upon the janitor to let me enter, as he said that Mr. Dunlevy was within. “I have brought you over that work on Ethics about which I spoke to you yesterday at the philosophy lecture,” I said, entering his study and finding him in a long silk dressing gown and wearing a pair of stunted Chinese slippers. He had in his hand a tumbler full to the brim of a heavy mixture. “Oh!” he exclaimed, as if he had received a shock, and was momentarily pausing over his surprise, “how the devil did you get in here?” “The janitor let me in,” I explained; “I met him at your door as he was going out.” “Oh--that was it--was it? Well--a--sit down, won’t you? This is a funny get-up you’ve found me in--isn’t it? You wouldn’t think to see me in street attire that I wore this sort of thing--would you? I say, a--have a drink, eh?” I said that I would have a glass with him, at which he appeared to be rather taken off his guard and confused. “Well, I’ll tell you,” he said, “this is a beverage of ante-bellum days, a sort of compound potpouri or strong sangaree of the olden time--you wouldn’t like it. But I will send Sandy out for anything you say?” I insisted upon taking what he was having. He hesitated for a moment as though I had put him in a predicament, and then he called out: “Sandy! Bring the gentleman a glass of our sangaree.” During this brief colloquy Dunlevy kept shading his eyes from me as if he did not care to have me see his face; and after giving the order for the liquor, he drew his chair up close to the fire-place so that his back was towards me. Even while he had been speaking these few words to me, his face and figure attracted my notice. His expression was a blending of artlessness and of shrewdness. He seemed to be one of those men who try to keep you from believing that they have a heart, when their gracious bearing and gentle mien give their tongue the lie. So long as you do not try to make an intimate friend of him, I said to myself, all will go well.