and cleansed and rearranged himself. Not even Lucy dared to invade the
museum, and the mere mention of spring cleaning drove the Professor into
displaying frantic rage, in which he used bad language.

On returning from her walk with Archie, the girl had lured her
step-father into assuming a rusty dress suit, which had done service for
many years, and had coaxed him into a promise to be present at dinner.
Mrs. Jasher, the lively widow of the district, was coming, and Braddock
approved of a woman who looked up to him as the one wise man in the
world. Even science is susceptible to judicious flattery, and Mrs.
Jasher was never backward in putting her admiration into words.
Female gossip declared that the widow wished to become the second Mrs.
Braddock, but if this was really the case, she had but small chance of
gaining her end. The Professor had once sacrificed his liberty to secure
a competence, and, having acquired five hundred a year, was not inclined
for a second matrimonial venture. Had the widow been a dollar heiress
with a million at her back he would not have troubled to place a ring
on her finger. And certainly Mrs. Jasher had little to gain from such a
dreary marriage, beyond a collection of rubbish--as she said--and a
dull country house situated in a district inhabited solely by peasants
belonging to Saxon times.

Archie Hope left Lucy at the door of the Pyramids and repaired to his
village lodgings, for the purpose of assuming evening dress. Lucy, being
her own housekeeper, assisted the overworked parlor maid to lay and
decorate the table before receiving the guests. Thus Mrs. Jasher found
no one in the drawing-room to welcome her, and, taking the privilege of
old friendship, descended to beard Braddock in his den. The Professor
raised his eyes from a newly bought scarabeus to behold a stout little
lady smiling on him from the doorway. He did not appear to be grateful
for the interruption, but Mrs. Jasher was not at all dismayed, being
a man-hunter by profession. Besides, she saw that Braddock was in the
clouds as usual, and would have received the King himself in the same
absent-minded manner.

"Pouf! what an abominal smell!" exclaimed the widow, holding a
flimsy lace handkerchief to her nose. "Kind of camphor-sandal-wood
charnel-house smell. I wonder you are not asphyxiated. Pouf! Ugh!
Bur-r-r

The Professor stared at her with cold, fishy eyes. "Did you speak?"

"Oh, dear me, yes, and you don't even ask