The Disagreeable Woman. Alger Horatio Jr.

that savored of gallantry.

      "Oh, yes," he continued, "Bismarck was the devil among the girls."

      "Oh, Professor, I am shocked! You should not use such a word as devil at the table."

      "What, then, do you call him?" asked Prof. Poppendorf.

      "He is not mentioned in polite society. But tell us about the duel—were you wounded?"

      "You see that scar," said the Professor, pointing to a slight disfigurement of his left cheek. "That was given me by Bismarck."

      "Oh, how interesting! It is almost like seeing Bismarck himself."

      "Prof. Poppendorf," said the Disagreeable Woman, "why do you not lecture on Bismarck, instead of the dry subject you have announced?"

      "You admire Bismarck, then, my dear lady?"

      "Not at all."

      "But I don't understand."

      "The people are interested in him. They don't care for the 'Material and the Immaterial.'"

      "That is a good suggestion, Professor," said the widow. "I would much rather hear about Bismarck. I admire him. Why do you not, Miss Blagden?"

      "Because he was a second-hand autocrat," said the Disagreeable Woman.

      "Again I do not understand," said the Professor.

      "He was the servant of the Emperor. His authority did not come from the people."

      There was some further conversation, and Prof. Poppendorf promised that his next lecture should be upon Bismarck.

      CHAPTER IV.

      PROF. POPPENDORF'S LECTURE

      We all sat at supper on Thursday evening. There was a general air of expectation. It was on this evening that Prof. Poppendorf was to give his lecture. We all gazed at him with more than ordinary interest. The old Professor, gray and grim-visaged, sat more than usually erect, and his manner and bearing were marked by unusual dignity. He felt himself to be the hero of the hour.

      I have neglected to say that Mrs. Wyman had been transferred to the seat adjoining mine. As she could not do without masculine attention I suspect that this arrangement was prompted by herself. Henceforth I was favored with the greater part of her conversation.

      "I am quite looking forward to Prof. Poppendorf's lecture!" she said. "You are going, are you not?"

      "I think so, but I can't say I am looking forward to it. I fancy it will be dry and difficult to understand."

      "You think he is a learned man, do you not?"

      "Very probably—in certain directions."

      "Dr. Fenwick, I am going to ask a favor of you."

      "I hope it isn't money," thought I, "for I was beginning to have some anxiety about my steadily dwindling bank account."

      "Name it, Mrs. Wyman," I said, somewhat nervously.

      "I am almost ashamed to say it, but I don't like to go to the lecture alone. Would you mind giving me your escort?"

      "With pleasure," I answered.

      My answer was not quite truthful, for I had intended to ask the young woman from Macy's to accompany me. She was not intellectual, but she had a fresh, country face and complexion; she came from Pomfret, Connecticut, and was at least ten years younger than Mrs. Wyman. But what could I say? I had not the moral courage to refuse a lady.

      "Thank you very much. Now I shall look forward to the evening with pleasure."

      "You are complimentary. Do you expect to understand the lecture?"

      "I don't know. I never gave much thought to the 'Material and Immaterial.'"

      "Possibly we may understand as much about the subject as the Professor himself."

      "Oh, how severe you are! Now I have great faith in the Professor's learning."

      "He ought to be learned. He certainly has no physical beauty."

      Mrs. Wyman laughed.

      "I suppose few learned men are handsome," she said.

      "Then perhaps I may console myself for having so little learning. Do you think the same rule holds good with ladies?"

      "To a certain extent. I am sure the principal of the seminary I attended was frightfully plain; but I am sure she was learned. Prof. Poppendorf, have you sold many lecture tickets?"

      "Quite a few!" answered the Professor, vaguely.

      "Are you going to attend the lecture, Miss Blagden?" asked the widow.

      "Miss Canby and I have agreed to go together."

      Miss Canby was the young woman from Macy's. The Disagreeable Woman finding that she wished to attend the lecture, offered her a ticket and her company, both being thankfully accepted. So that after all my escort was not needed by the young woman, and I lost nothing by my attention to the widow.

      We did not rise from the table till seven o'clock. Mrs. Wyman excused herself for a short time. She wished to dress for the lecture. The gentlemen withdrew to the reception room, a small and very narrow room on one side of the hall, and waited for the ladies to appear. Among those who seated themselves there was the Disagreeable Woman. She waited for the appearance of the young woman from Macy's, whom she was to accompany to the lecture. Somehow she did not seem out of place in the assemblage of men.

      "You did not at first propose to hear Prof. Poppendorf?" I remarked.

      "No; I shall not enjoy it. But I found Miss Canby wished to attend."

      "We shall probably know a good deal more about the Material and the Immaterial when we return."

      "Possibly we shall know as much as the Professor himself," she answered, quietly.

      "I am afraid you are no hero worshiper, Miss Blagden."

      "Do you refer to the Professor as a hero?"

      "He is the hero of this evening."

      "Perhaps so. We will see."

      Prof. Poppendorf looked into the reception room previous to leaving the house. He wore a long coat, or surtout, as it used to be called—tightly buttoned around his spare figure. There was a rose in his buttonhole. I had never seen one there before, but then this was a special occasion. He seemed in good spirits, as one on the eve of a triumph. He was content with one comprehensive glance. Then he opened the front door, and went out.

      Just then Mrs. Wyman tripped into the room, closely followed by Ruth Canby. The widow was quite radiant. I can't undertake to itemize her splendor. She looked like a social butterfly.

      Quite in contrast with her was the young woman from Macy's, whose garb was almost Quaker-like in its simplicity. Mrs. Wyman surveyed her with a contemptuous glance, and no doubt mentally contrasted her plainness with her own showy apparel. But the Disagreeable Woman's eye seemed to rest approvingly on her young companion. They started out ahead of the rest of us.

      "What a very plain person Miss Canby is!" said the widow, as we emerged into the street, her arm resting lightly in mine.

      "Do you refer to her dress or her face and figure?"

      "Well, to both."

      "She dresses plainly; but I suspect that is dictated by economy. She has a pleasant face."

      "It is the face of a peasant."

      "I didn't know there were any peasants in America."

      "Well, you understand what I mean. She looks like a country girl."

      "Perhaps so, but is that an objection?"

      "Few country girls are stylish."

      "I don't myself care so much for style as for good health and a good heart."

      "Really, Dr. Fenwick, your ideas are very old-fashioned. In that respect you resemble my dear, departed husband."

      "Is it permitted to ask whether your husband has long been dead?"

      "I have been a widow six years,"