ey should put up with his manner!"

"But, my dear Claude, as you are always pointing out, the Professor has
a special manner which he keeps exclusively for her."

The special manner had already worked wonders. The Professor was to
Hadria by far the most entertaining person of the party. He had always
amused her, and even the first time she saw him, he had exercised a
strange, unpleasant fascination over her, which had put her on the
defensive, for she had disliked and distrusted him. The meetings in the
Priory gardens had softened her hostility, and now she began to feel
more and more that she had judged him unfairly. In those days she had a
strong pre-occupying interest. He had arrived on the scene at an
exciting moment, just when she was planning out her flight to Paris.
She had not considered the Professor's character very deeply. There were
far too many other things to think of. It was simpler to avoid him. But
now everything had changed. The present moment was not exciting; she had
no plans and projects in her head; she was not about to court the fate
of Icarus. That fate had already overtaken her. The waves were closing
over-head; her wings were wet and crippled, in the blue depths. Why not
take what the gods had sent and make the most of it?

The Professor had all sorts of strange lore, which he used, in his
conversations with Hadria, almost as a fisherman uses his bait. If she
shewed an inclination to re-join the rest of the party, he always
brought out some fresh titbit of curious learning, and Hadria was seldom
able to resist the lure.

They met often, almost of necessity. It was impossible to feel a
stranger to the Professor, in these circumstances of frequent and
informal meeting. Often when Hadria happened to be alone with him, she
would become suddenly silent, as if she no longer felt the necessity to
talk or to conceal her weariness. The Professor knew it too well; he saw
how heavily the burden of life weighed upon her, and how it was often
almost more than she could do, to drag through the day. She craved for
excitement, no matter of what kind, in order to help her to forget her
weariness. Her anxiety about Professor Fortescue preyed upon her. She
was restless, over-wrought, with every nerve on edge, unable now for
consecutive work, even had events permitted it. She followed the advice
and took the medicines of a London doctor, whom Mrs. Fullerton had
entreated her to consult, but she gained no ground