‘You took a great deal upon yourself then,’ said Wyndham.
‘Maybe so,’ said Denis, pursing up his lips. ‘But ye said as how she was to be thrated like that; an’ if a girl was my daughter—why, I’d take her to Bridget.’
It was impossible to go into this involved affair. Wyndham dismissed him with a gesture; but Denis dallied at the door.
‘I suppose there’s something wrong, sir?’ persisted he.
‘Nothing,’ said Wyndham, putting a match to his cigar, ‘except that you are the most infernal ass I ever met.’
With a heavy heart Wyndham, assisted by a physician of great note, had gone through the Professor’s papers. There were few of them, and with regard to the experiment only a few useless notes here and there, principally written on the backs of envelopes. There was nothing connected—nothing that could be used. The Professor, it seemed, had been in the habit of writing on his brain, and on that only. Alas! there was nothing left wherewith to carry on the great discovery.
Wyndham abandoned his search with a sigh. There was no doubt now that the wonderful experiment was lost to all time. With this sad ending of it he told himself he had closed one chapter in his life, but he made a mistake there; the chapter was only beginning.
CHAPTER VI.
‘In her is highe beauty without pride,
And youth withoute greenhood or folly.