A Quicksilver Globule.
“Well, papa?” she said, looking into his face in a half-amused way.
“Well, Helen,” said the doctor, taking her hand and drawing her to him; “about this boy?”
“Yes, dear. You have made up your mind to adopt and bring one up,” she said, in a low tone which the lad could not hear.
“Yes,” said the doctor, taking his tone from her, “to turn the raw material into the polished cultured article.”
“But of course you will take this one back, and select another!”
“And pray why!” said the doctor sharply.
“I thought—I thought—” faltered Helen.
“Oh, nonsense! Better for proving my theory.”
“Yes, papa, but—”