“I’m sure I should have felt the same in your place,” answered the professor. “I should probably have imagined I saw the ghosts of monks dead and gone, who might have walked there if the Cloisters had been several hundreds of years older, and I would certainly have made the echoes ring with my calls for help. The Cloisters are all right for ‘concentration’ and ‘meditation,’ which I believe is what they are intended to be used for on a warm, sunny day; but they are cold comfort after sunset.”
“Is this your study?” asked Molly, rising and looking about her with interest, as she started toward the door.
“I should say that this was my play room,” he replied, smiling.
“Play room?”
“Yes, this is where I hide from work and begin to play.” He glanced at a pile of manuscript on his desk.
“I reckon work is play and play is work to you,” observed Molly, regarding the papers with much interest. She had never before seen a manuscript.
“If you knew what an heretical document that was, you would not make such rash statements,” said the professor.
“I’m sure it’s a learned treatise on some scientific subject,” laughed Molly, who had entirely regained her composure now, and felt not the least bit afraid of this learned man, with the kind, brown eyes. He seemed quite old to her.
“If I tell you what it is, will you promise to keep it a secret?”
“I promise,” she cried eagerly.