u not to venture on any
more. Good-night, once more. I only wish it were possible, without
needless irony, to make the customary acknowledgments for a pleasant
evening."

Mrs. Futvoye had already hurried her daughter away, and, though she had
left her husband to express his sentiments unaided, she made it
sufficiently clear that she entirely agreed with them.

Horace stood in the outer hall by the fountain, in which his drowned
chrysanthemums were still floating, and gazed in stupefied despair after
his guests as they went down the path to the gate. He knew only too well
that they would never cross his threshold, nor he theirs, again.

Suddenly he came to himself with a start. "I'll try it!" he cried. "I
can't and won't stand this!" And he rushed after them bareheaded.

"Professor!" he said breathlessly, as he caught him up, "one moment. On
second thoughts, I _will_ tell you my secret, if you will promise me a
patient hearing."

"The pavement is hardly the place for confidences," replied the
Professor, "and, if it were, your costume is calculated to attract more
remark than is desirable. My wife and daughter have gone on--if you will
permit me, I will overtake them--I shall be at home to-morrow morning,
should you wish to see me."

"No--to-night, to-night!" urged Horace. "I can't sleep in that infernal
place with this on my mind. Put Mrs. Futvoye and Sylvia into a cab,
Professor, and come back. It's not late, and I won't keep you long--but
for Heaven's sake, let me tell you my story at once."

Probably the Professor was not without some curiosity on the subject; at
all events he yielded. "Very well," he said, "go into the house and I
will rejoin you presently. Only remember," he added, "that I shall
accept no statement without the fullest proof. Otherwise you will merely
be wasting your time and mine."

"Proof!" thought Horace, gloomily, as he returned to his Arabian halls,
"The only decent proof I could produce would be old Fakrash, and he's
not likely to turn up again--especially now I want him."

A little later the Professor returned, having found a cab and despatched
his women-folk home. "Now, young man," he said, as he unwound his
wrapper and seated himself on the divan by Horace's side, "I can give
you just ten minutes to tell your story in, so let me beg you to make it
as brief and as comprehensible as you can."

It was not exactly an encouraging invitation in the circumstances, but
Horace took his co