Deptford, and fancied that it might look a little too
marked if he were at once to take possession of Helena. The good-natured
Duchess saw through his embarrassment in a moment. The light of
kindliness and sympathy guided her; and just as Ericson was approaching
her she feigned to be wholly unconscious of his propinquity, and leaning
forward in her chair she called out in her clear voice:

'Now, look here, Professor Flick, I want you to sit right down here and
talk to me. You are a countryman of mine, and I haven't yet had a chance
of saying anything much to you, so you come and talk to me.'

The Professor declared himself delighted, honoured, all the rest, and
came and seated himself, according to the familiar modern phrase, in the
pretty Duchess's pocket.

'We haven't met in America, Professor, I think?' the Duchess said.

'No, Duchess; I have never had that high honour.'

'But your name is quite familiar to me. You have a great observatory,
haven't you--out West somewhere--the Flick Observatory, is it not?'

'No, Duchess. Pardon me. You are thinking of the Lick Observatory.'

'Oh, am I? Yes, I dare say. Lick and Flick are so much alike. And I
don't know one little bit about sciences. I don't know one of them from
another. They are all the same to me. I only define science as something
that I can't understand. I had a notion that you were mixed up with
astronomy. That's why I got thinking of the Lick Observatory.'

'No, your Grace, my department is very modest--folk-lore.'

'Oh, yes, nursery rhymes of all nations, and making out that every
country has got just the same old stories--that's the sort of thing, as
far as I can make out--ain't it?'

'Well,' the Professor said, somewhat constrainedly, 'that is a more or
less humorous condensed description of a very important study.'

'I think I should like folk-lore,' the lively Duchess went on. 'I do
hope, Professor, that you will come to me some afternoon, and talk
folk-lore to me. I could understand it so much better than astronomy, or
chemistry, or these things; and I don't care about history, and I _do_
hate recitations.'

Just then Soame Rivers entered the room, and saw that Ericson was
talking with Helena. His eyebrows contracted. Rivers was the last man to
go upstairs to the drawing-room. He had a pretty clear idea that
something was going on. During the time while the men were having their
cigars and cigarettes, telegrams came in for almost everyone at