"I may have a sentimental reason also," interrupted the widow,
with a sly glance at the absent-minded Professor, who was drawing
hieroglyphics on the table-cloth with a fork; "also, my cottage
is cheap and very comfortable. The late Mr. Jasher did not leave
me sufficient money to live in London. He was a consul in China,
you know, and consuls are never very well paid. I will come in
for a large income, however."

"Indeed," said Lucy politely, and wondering why Mrs. Jasher was
so communicative. "Soon I hope."

"It may be very soon. My brother, you know--a merchant in
Pekin. He has come home to die, and is unmarried. When he does
die, I shall go to London. But," added the widow, meditatively
and glancing again at the Professor, "I shall be sorry to leave
dear Gartley. Still, the memory of happy hours spent in this
house will always remain with me. Ah me! ah me!" and she put her
handkerchief to her eyes.

Lucy telegraphed to Archie that the widow was a humbug, and
Archie telegraphed back that he quite agreed with her. But the
Professor, whom the momentary silence had brought back to the
present century, looked up and asked Lucy if the dinner was
finished.

"I have to do some work this evening," said the Professor.

"Oh, father, when you said that you would take a holiday," said
Lucy reproachfully.