The Bacillus of Beauty

No one was more puzzled by my appearance than Uncle Timothy himself. As he looked at me--and this he did through most of the meal--certain long gray hairs in his eyebrows seemed to wave up and down, as I had often noticed with the frightened curiosity of a child, like the questioning antennae of an insect.

"And what is the school work now?" he asked when the dessert came. "The last time I had the very real pleasure of seeing you, it was--perhaps animalculae?"

"The cell," I replied, relieved at the introduction of a topic that I could talk about, "and the cell wall. Protoplasmic movements, you know, and unicellular plants and animals. I'd been making sketches that day of the common amoeba of standing water."

"I am not familiar with the--ah--with the amoeba; but doubtless its habits are interesting. And when do the school days end? A young lady looks forward with pleasure, I fancy, to release from--"

"Is the amoeba a--some horrid bug, I suppose?" interrupted Aunt Frank; "and you--er--do things to it in that laboratory? How can you? The very thought of such a place! It makes me shiver!"

"Oh, but you should see it, so clean and bright; the laboratory's simply beautiful!"

"But this is your first winter in the city, and you ought to be enjoying concerts and theatres, meeting people, seeing things."

"Oh, I only keep such hours as I elect, being a post graduate; and I've been to several theatres," I said; "Kitty and I get seats in the top gallery."

"The--the top gallery?"

"At matinees," I hastily explained, "and not--not lately."

And then I felt more confused than ever, for Mr. Hynes was watching me. John was looking at me, too, with that great light in his face that had been there ever since my arrival, when he first saw the opal gleaming on my finger; and I--oh, how could I have hinted that I don't dare go where so many people might look at me? But it's the truth. And though the truth may be inconvenient, it's wonderfully sweet!

After dinner we passed into the big drawing room behind the hall. Joy did some clumsy little dances in her short white frock--she is really too chubby to caper nimbly--and Ethel and Milly played and sang neither well nor ill.

I think they were more afraid of me than I had been of the servants at dinner. They are not very pretty, with their light, wavy hair and pale flower faces, though I'm afraid I set my standard too high now--now that I know what is possible.

I went to the piano myself afterwards and played. Played! It was terrible! Never would I have believed that I could make such a mess of it. I didn't sing until they began trying carols. I didn't mean to do so then, but I chimed in before I thought, when they sang:-He set a star up in the sky Full broad and bright and fair.