Professor Kennedy shook his head. "Alas! there's never anything the
matter with them. _Comme le diable, ils se portent toujours bien_."

At the purity of accent with which this embittered remark was made,
Mrs. Marshall-Smith opened her eyes, and paid more attention as the
old professor went on.

"The last of my unmarried nieces has shown herself a true Kennedy by
providing herself with a dolichocephalic blond of a husband, like all
the others. The dinner was given in honor of the engagement."

Sylvia was accustomed to finding Professor Kennedy's remarks quite
unintelligible, and this one seemed no odder to her than the rest, so
that she was astonished that Aunt Victoria was not ashamed to confess
as blank an ignorance as the little girl's. The beautiful woman leaned
toward the morose old man with the suave self-confidence of one who
has never failed to charm, and drew his attention to her by a laugh
of amused perplexity. "May I ask," she inquired, "_what_ kind of a
husband is that? It is a new variety to me."

Professor Kennedy looked at her appraisingly. "It's the kind most
women aspire to," he answered enigmatically. He imparted to this
obscure remark the air of passing a sentence of condemnation.

Sylvia's mother stirred uneasily in her chair and looked at her
husband. He had begun to take his viola from the case, but now
returned it and stood looking quizzically from his sister to his
guest. "Professor Kennedy talks a special language, Vic," he said
lightly. "Some day he'll make a book of it and be famous. He divides
us all into two kinds: the ones that get what they want by taking it