"'Presto! Presto!' shouted the professor, balancing himself on the edge of his chair and waving his arms majestically, as if preparing for a sudden flight across the Scheldt; and, firmly convinced that he not only meditated it, but was perfectly capable of attempting it, I covered my eyes with my hands.
"'Are you ill, Mr. Kensett?' asked the girl, quietly.
"I raised my head indignantly. 'Not at all, Miss Wyeth, only I'll bid you good-evening, for this is the nineteenth century, and I'm a Christian.'
"'So am I,' she said. 'So is my father.'
"'The devil he is,' I thought.
"Her next words made me jump.
"'Please do not be profane, Mr. Kensett.'
"How did she know I was profane? I had not spoken a word! Could it be possible she was able to read my thoughts? This was too much, and I rose.
"'I have the honor to bid you good-evening,' I began, and reluctantly turned to include the professor, expecting to see that gentleman balancing himself on his chair. The professor's chair was empty.
"'Oh,' said the girl, smiling, 'my father has gone.'