There was unconcealed disappointment among the few, who, during the past autumn, had met her at the Château, when they were told she had gone back to England. Baroness de Rousillon was, in particular, much annoyed, for she had made a compact with the Marchese Farnese to enter into close and friendly relations with Diana, and to find out from her, if at all possible, the sort of work which went on in the huge domed laboratory wherein Dimitrius appeared to pass so much of his time. Farnese himself said little of his vexation,--but he left Geneva almost immediately on hearing the news, and without informing Dimitrius of his intention, went straight to London, resolved to probe what he considered a “mystery” to its centre. As for Professor Chauvet, no words could describe his surprise and deep chagrin at Diana’s departure; he could not bring himself to believe that she had left Geneva without saying good-bye to him. So troubled and perplexed was he, that with his usual bluntness he made a clean confession to Dimitrius of his proposal of marriage. Dimitrius heard him with grave patience and a slight, supercilious uplifting of his dark eyebrows. “I imagined as much!” he said, coldly, when he had heard all. “But Miss May is not young, and I should have thought she would have been glad of the chance of marriage you offered her. Did she give you any hope?” Chauvet looked doubtfully reflective. “She did and she didn’t,” he at last answered, rather ruefully. “And yet--she’s not capricious--and I trust her. As you say, she’s not young,--good heavens, what a heap of nonsense is talked about ‘young’ women!--frequently the most useless and stupid creatures!--only thinking of themselves from morning till night!--Miss May is a fine, intelligent creature--I should like to pass the few remaining years of my life in her company.” Dimitrius glanced him over with an air of disdainful compassion. “I dare say she’ll write to you,” he said. “She’s the kind of woman who might prefer to settle that sort of thing by letter.” “Can you give me her address?” at once asked the Professor, eagerly. “Not at the moment,” replied Dimitrius, composedly. “She has no fixed abode at present,--she’s travelling with friends. As soon as I hear from her, I will let you know!” Chauvet, though always a trifle suspicious of other men’s meanings, was disarmed by the open frankness with which this promise was given, and though more or less uneasy in his own mind, allowed the matter to drop. Dimitrius was unkindly amused at his discomfiture. “Imagine it!” he thought--“That exquisite creation of mine wedded to so unsatisfactory a product of ill-assorted elements!”