The Professor was back in a moment: he had changed his dressing-gown
for a frock-coat, and had put on a pair of very strange-looking boots,
the tops of which were open umbrellas. "I thought you'd like to see
them," he said. "These are the boots for horizontal weather!"
[Image...Boots for horizontal weather]
"But what's the use of wearing umbrellas round one's knees?"
"In ordinary rain," the Professor admitted, "they would not be of much
use. But if ever it rained horizontally, you know, they would be
invaluable--simply invaluable!"
"Take the Professor to the breakfast-saloon, children," said the
Warden. "And tell them not to wait for me. I had breakfast early,
as I've some business to attend to." The children seized the Professor's
hands, as familiarly as if they had known him for years, and hurried
him away. I followed respectfully behind.
CHAPTER 2.
L'AMIE INCONNUE.
As we entered the breakfast-saloon, the Professor was saying "--and
he had breakfast by himself, early: so he begged you wouldn't wait for
him, my Lady. This way, my Lady," he added, "this way!" And then, with
(as it seemed to me) most superfluous politeness, he flung open the
door of my compartment, and ushered in "--a young and lovely lady!"
I muttered to myself with some bitterness. "And this is, of course,
the opening scene of Vol. I. She is the Heroine. And I am one of those
subordinate characters that only turn up when needed for the
development of her destiny, and whose final appearance is outside the
church, waiting to greet the Happy Pair!"
"Yes, my Lady, change at Fayfield," were the next words I heard
(oh that too obsequious Guard!), "next station but one.
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