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 to his ingenuity; but Blanche, who had also paid it a visit, could never speak of it without a pretty little shudder.

"Nothing would induce me to go there again," she declared, "and I consider myself very fortunate to have escaped from it with my life. It's filled with all sorts of horrible things that fizzle up and go off, or that make you turn some dreadful colour if you look at them. I expect to hear a great clap some day, and half an hour afterwards to see Gordon brought home in a thousand small pieces, put up in a glass jar. I got a horrid little stain in the middle of my dress, that one of the young men—the young savants—was so good as to drop there. Did you see the young savants who work under Gordon's orders? I thought they were too forlorn; there isn't one of them you would look at. If you can believe it, there wasn't one of them that looked at me; they took no more notice of me than if I had been the charwoman. They might have shown me some attention, at least, as the wife of the proprietor. What is it that Gordon's called—isn't there some other name? If you say 'proprietor' it sounds as if he kept an hotel. I certainly don't want to pass for the wife of an hotel-keeper. What does he call himself? He must have some name. I hate telling people he's a chemist; it sounds just as if he kept a shop. That's what they call the druggists in England, and I formed the habit while I was there. It makes me feel as if he were some dreadful little man with big green bottles in the window and 'night-bell' painted outside. He doesn't call himself anything? Well, that's exactly like Gordon! I wonder he consents to have a name at all. When I was telling some one about the young men who work under his orders—the young savants—he said I must not say that—I must not 141