Part 9 (1/2)

PART II

I

DAHLIA AND THE PROFESSOR

Amen Stuck in my throat.

--_Macbeth._

The Skeptic and his wife, Hepatica, being happily established in a beautifully s.p.a.cious flat in town, measuring thirty feet by forty over all, invited me to visit them. As both had spent considerable time at my country home in summer, they insisted that it was only just for me to allow them, that second winter after their marriage, to return my hospitality. This argument alone would hardly have sufficed, for winter in the country--connected by trolley with the town--is hardly less delightful to me than summer itself. But there were other and convincing arguments, and they ended by bringing me to the city for a month's visit in the heart of the season.

On the first morning at breakfast--I had arrived late the night before--there was much to talk about.

”It's a curious fact,” said the Skeptic, stirring a cup of yellow-brown coffee with which his wife had just presented him, ”as Hepatica and I discovered only the other day, that three of those girls who visited you that summer four years ago, when she and I were avoiding each other----”

”You--avoiding!” I interpolated.

”Well--I was trying to avoid being avoided by her,” he explained. ”Three of those girls are married and living in town.”

”Yes, I know,” said I. ”At least I know Camellia and Althea are. Who else? Azalea lives across the river, doesn't she?”

”Yes. You haven't heard of the latest matrimonial alliance, then?” The Skeptic chuckled. Hepatica looked at him, and he looked at her, and then they both looked at me. ”Dahlia was married yesterday,” the Skeptic announced with relish, ”in a manse study, with two witnesses.”

I was astounded. I had just come from home, and Dahlia was my next neighbour. She had been away more or less all winter, but there had been no announcement of any engagement--nor sign of one.

The Skeptic, enjoying my stupefaction, proceeded to give what he considered an explanation. ”I don't see why you should be so surprised,”

he said. ”You knew Dahlia's methods. Her net was always spread, and though a certain wise man declares it in vain to spread it in the sight of any bird, humans are not always so wary. A man who chanced to be walking along with his head in the clouds might get his feet entangled in a cunningly laid net. And so it happened to the Professor.”

”The Professor!” I e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed. ”Not--our Professor?”

The Skeptic nodded solemnly.

”He was our Professor,” he amended. ”He's hers now. And day before yesterday he was free!”

He glanced at his watch, folded his napkin in haste, seized his coat and hat, kissed his wife, patted her shoulder, nodded at me, and was gone. A minute later we heard the whirr and slide of his car, and Hepatica, at the window, was returning his wave.

”He's looking extremely well,” I observed. ”He must be twenty pounds heavier than he was that summer. Avoiding being avoided was probably rather thinning.”

”He does seem to enjoy his food,” admitted Hepatica, regarding the Skeptic's empty plate with satisfaction.

”Not much doubt of that,” I agreed, remembering the delicately hearty breakfast we had just consumed.

”It's really quite dreadful about Dahlia and the poor Professor, isn't it?” said Hepatica presently. ”And it's just as Don says: he was literally caught in her net. I presume he couldn't tell to-day precisely how it happened.”

”I've no doubt she could,” said I ungenerously. ”I shall be anxious to see them.”

”Oh, you'll see them. It's in the middle of term--he couldn't take her away. And his old quarters are just two blocks below us. She knew you were coming. You'll probably see them within forty-eight hours.”