ook a long draught of champagne. Tavernake gazed at him in blank
amazement.

"I don't know much about science," he said. "It is only lately that I
have begun to realize how ignorant I really am. Your daughter has helped
to teach me."

The professor sighed heavily.

"A young woman of attainments, sir," he remarked, "of character, too.
Look at the way she carries her head. That was a trick of her mother's."

"Don't you mean to speak to her at all, then?" Tavernake asked.

"I dare not," the professor replied. "I am naturally of a truthful
disposition, and if Elizabeth were to ask me if I had spoken to her
sister, I should give myself away at once. No, I look on and that is
all."

Tavernake drummed with his fingers upon the tablecloth. Something in
the merriment of that little party downstairs had filled him with a very
bitter feeling.

"You ought to go and claim her, professor," he declared. "Look down at
them now. Is that the best life for a girl? The men are almost strangers
to her, and the girls are not fit for her to associate with. She has no
friends, no relatives. Your daughter Elizabeth can do without you very
well. She is strong enough to take care of herself."

"But my dear sir," the professor objected, "Beatrice could not support
me."

Tavernake paid his bill without another word. Downstairs the lights had
been lowered, the party at the round table were already upon their feet.

"Good-night, professor!" he said. "I am going to see the last of
Beatrice from the top of the stairs."

The professor followed him--they stood there and watched her depart with
Annie Legarde. The two girls got into a taxicab together, and Tavernake
breathed a sigh of relief, a relief for which he was wholly unable to
account, when he saw that Grier made no effort to follow them. As soon
as the taxi had rolled away, they descended and passed into the street.
Then the professor suddenly changed his tone.

"Mr. Tavernake," he said, "I know what you are thinking about me: I am a
weak old man who drinks too much and who wasn't born altogether honest.
I can't give up anything. I'd be happier, really happier, on a crust
with Beatrice, but I daren't, I simply daren't try it. I prefer the
flesh pots with Elizabeth, and you despise me for it. I don't blame you,
Mr. Tavernake, but listen."

"Well?" Tavernake interjected.

The professor's fingers gripped his arm.

"You've known Beatrice longer--you don't know Elizabeth very well,