in Robert Allitsen's ordinary bearing to justify
such talk. So the foolish people who, for the sake of making themselves
peculiar, revived these unlikely fictions, were speedily ridiculed and
reduced to silence. And the Disagreeable Man remained the Disagreeable
Man, with a clean record for unamiability.

He lived a life apart from others. Most of his time was occupied in
photography, or in the use and study of the microscope, or in chemistry.
His photographs were considered to be most beautiful. Not that he showed
them specially to any one; but he generally sent a specimen of his work
to the Monthly Photograph Portfolio, and hence it was that people
learned to know of his skill. He might be seen any fine day trudging
along in company with his photographic apparatus, and a desolate dog,
who looked almost as cheerless as his chosen comrade. Neither the one
took any notice of the other; Allitsen was no more genial to the dog
than he was to the Kurhaus guests; the dog was no more demonstrative
to Robert Allitsen than he was to any one in Petershof.

Still, they were "something" to each other, that unexplainable
"something" which has to explain almost every kind of attachment.

He had no friends in Petershof, and apparently had no friends anywhere.
No one wrote to him, except his old mother; the papers which were sent
to him came from a stationer's.

He read all during meal-time. But now and again he spoke a few words
with Bernardine Holme, whose place was next to him. It never occurred
to him to say good morning, nor to give a greeting of any kind, nor to
show a courtesy. One day during lunch, however, he did take the trouble
to stoop and pick up Bernardine Holme's shawl, which had fallen for the
third time to the ground.

"I never saw a female wear a shawl more carelessly than you," he said.
"You don't seem to know anything about it."

His manner was always gruff. Every one complained of him. Every one
always had complained of him. He had never been heard to laugh. Once
or twice he had been seen to smile on occasions when people talked
confidently of recovering their health. It was a beautiful smile worthy
of a better cause. It was a smile which made one pause to wonder what
could have been the original disposition of the Disagreeable Man before
ill-health had cut him off from the affairs of active life. Was he happy
or unhappy? It was not known. He gave no sign of either the one state or
the other. He always looked