I call him young, but, as a matter of fact, he is a
year older than I am.

"I understand, Gilroy," said he, "that you are being
experimented upon by Miss Penclosa."

"Well," he went on, when I had acknowledged it, "if I
were you, I should not let it go any further. You will
think me very impertinent, no doubt, but, none the
less, I feel it to be my duty to advise you to have no
more to do with her."

Of course I asked him why.

"I am so placed that I cannot enter into particulars as
freely as I could wish," said he. "Miss Penclosa is
the friend of my friend, and my position is a delicate
one. I can only say this: that I have myself been the
subject of some of the woman's experiments, and that
they have left a most unpleasant impression upon my
mind."

He could hardly expect me to be satisfied with that,
and I tried hard to get something more definite out of
him, but without success. Is it conceivable that he
could be jealous at my having superseded him? Or is he
one of those men of science who feel personally injured
when facts run counter to their preconceived opinions?
He cannot seriously suppose that because he has some
vague grievance I am, therefore, to abandon a series of