John saw the truest kindness was implicit obedience; and Allen and Bobus instantly joined her, the latter asking what new tomfoolery Janet had brought home, Allen following with a cup of coffee.

Caroline’s lips felt too dry to speak, and she held out the certificate.

It was received by Allen, with the exclamation—-

“By Jove!”

And by Bobus, with an odd, harsh laugh—-"I thought she would do something monstrous one of these days.”

“Did you ever hear of him, Bobus?” she found voice to say, after swallowing a mouthful of coffee.

“I fancy I have.  Yes, I remember now; he was lecturing and vapouring about at Zurich; he is half Greek, I believe, and all charlatan.  Well, Janet has been and gone and done for herself now, and no mistake.”

“But he is a professor,” pleaded Caroline.  “He must be of some university.”

“Don’t make too sure,” said Allen, “A professor may mean a writing master.  Good heavens! what a connection.”

“It can’t be so bad as that,” said Caroline.  “Remember, your sister is not foolish.”

“Flatter an ugly woman,” said Bobus, “and it’s a regular case of fox and crow.”

“Mercy! here they come!” cried Allen.

“Mother, do you go away!  This is not work for you.  Leave us to settle the rascal,” said Bobus.

“No, Bobus,” she said; “this ought to be settled by me.  Remember that, whatever the man may be, he is Janet’s husband, and she is your sister.”

“Worse luck!” sighed Allen.

“And,” she added, “he has to go away to-morrow, at latest,” a sentence which she knew would serve to pacify Allen.

They had crossed the parterre by this time, and were almost at the window.

It was Bobus who took the initiative, bowing formally as he spoke, in German—-

“Good morning, Herr Professor.  You seem to have a turn for entering houses by irregular methods.”

The new-comer bowed with suavity, saying, in excellent English—-

“It is to your sister that in both senses I owe my entrance, and to the lady, your mother, that I owe my apology.”

And before Caroline well knew what was going on, he had one knee to the ground, and was kissing her hand.

“The tableau is incomplete, Janet,” said Bobus, whom Caroline heartily wished away.  “You ought to be on your knees beside him.”

“I have settled it with my mother already,” said Janet.

Both Caroline and her eldest son were relieved by the first glance at the man.  He was small, and had much more of the Greek than of the German in his aspect, with neat little features, keen dark eyes, and no vulgarity in tone or appearance.  His hands were delicate; there was nothing of the “greasy foreigner” about him, but rather an air of finesse, especially in his exquisitely trimmed little moustache and pointed beard, and his voice and language were persuasive and fluent.  It might have been worse, was the prominent feeling, as she hastily said—-