Now, no one entered Mr. Dale’s room without knocking. None of the girls would have ventured to do so. But Aunt Sophia was made of sterner stuff. She did not knock. She opened the door and entered. The scholar was seated at the far end of the room. A large reading-lamp stood on the table. It spread a wide circle of light on the papers and books, and on his own silvery head and thin aquiline features. The rest of the room was in shadow. Miss Tredgold entered and stood a few feet away from Mr. Dale. Mr. Dale had already forgotten that such a person as Miss Sophia existed. It was his habit to work for a great many hours each night. It was during the hours of darkness that he most thoroughly absorbed himself in his darling occupation. His dinner had been better than usual, and that delicious coffee had stimulated his brain. He had not tasted coffee like that for years. His brain, therefore, being better nourished, was keener than usual to go on with his accustomed work. As Miss Sophia advanced to his side he uttered one or two sighs of rapture, for again a fresh rendering of a much-disputed passage occurred to him. Light was, in short, flooding the pages of his translation.
“The whole classical world will bless me,” murmured Mr. Dale. “I am doing a vast service.”
“I am sorry to interrupt you, Henry,” said the sharp, incisive tones of his sister-in-law.
At Miss Tredgold’s words he dropped his pen. It made a blot on the page, which further irritated him; for, untidy as he was in most things, his classical work was exquisitely neat.
“Do go away,” he said. “I am busy. Go away at once.”
“I am sorry, Henry, but I must stay. You know me, don’t you? Your sister-in-law, Sophia Tredgold.”
“Go away, Sophia. I don’t want to be rude, but I never see any one at this hour.”
“Henry, you are forced to see me. I shall go when I choose, not before.”
“Madam!”
Mr. Dale sprang to his feet.