es, Rose's visit was brought to
an abrupt close.

Looked at by an impartial spectator, the green room would surely have
seemed a model of family peace and even of Sunday restfulness. Rose
was sitting at the piano playing Mendelssohn's "Christmas Pieces," and
giving great pleasure to every one for art was in this house somewhat
overshadowed by science, and it did not very often happen that they
could listen to such playing as Rose's which was for that reason a
double pleasure. Tom was sitting near her looking supremely peaceful. On
one side of the fireplace Mrs. Craigie and Mrs. MacNaughton were playing
their weekly game of chess. On the other side Raeburn had his usual
Sunday evening recreation, his microscope. Erica knelt beside him, her
auburn head close to his white one as they arranged their specimens or
consulted books of reference. The professor, who had looked in on his
way home from the lecture to borrow a review, was browsing contentedly
among the books on the table with the comfortable sense that he might
justifiably read in a desultory holiday fashion.

It was upon this peaceful and almost Sabbatical group that a disturbing
element entered in the shape of Mr. Fane-Smith. He stood for an instant
at the door, taking in the scene, or rather taking that superficial view
which the narrow-minded usually take. He was shocked at the chessmen;
shocked at that profane microscope, and those week-day sections of
plants; shocked at the music, though he must have heard it played as a
voluntary on many church organs, and not only shocked, but furious, at
finding his daughter in a very nest of secularists.

Every one seemed a little taken aback when he entered. He took no notice
whatever of Raeburn, but went straight up to Rose.

"Go and put on your things at once," he said; "I have come to take you
home."

"Oh, papa," began Rose, "how you--"

"Not a word, Rose. Go and dress, and don't keep me waiting."

Erica, with a vain hope of making Mr. Fane-Smith behave at least
civilly, came forward and shook hands with him.

"I don't think you have met my father before," she said.

Raeburn had come a few steps forward; Mr. Fane-Smith inclined his about
a quarter of an inch; Raeburn bowed, then said to Erica:

"Perhaps Mr. Fane-Smith would prefer waiting in my study."

"Thanks, I will wait where I am," said Mr. Fane-Smith, pointedly,
ignoring the master of the house and addressing Erica. "Thank you," as
she offered him a