THE COLLECTED WORKS OF GEORGE BERNARD SHAW. GEORGE BERNARD SHAW

not wait until half past nine to break his fast, she ran gaily off round the southwest corner of the Cottage to a terrace, from which there was access through a great double window, now wide open, to a lofty apartment roofed with glass.

      At a large table in the middle of the room sat a man with his back to the window. He had taken off his coat, and was bending over a small round block with little holes sunk into it. Each hole was furnished with a neat brass peg, topped with ebony; and the man was lifting and replacing one of these pegs whilst he gravely watched the dial of an instrument that resembled a small clock. A large straw hat concealed his head, and protected it from the rays that were streaming through the glass roof and open window. The apparent triviality of his occupation, and his intentness upon it, amused Marian. She stole into the laboratory, came close behind him, and said:

      “Since you have nothing better to do than play cribbage with yourself,

       I — —”

      She had gently lifted up his straw hat, and found beneath a head that was not Lord Carbury’s. The man, who had cowered with surprise at her touch and voice, but had waited even then to finish an observation of his galvanometer before turning, now turned and stared at her.

      “I beg your pardon,” said Marian, blushing vigorously. “I thought it was Lord Carbury. I have disturbed you very rudely. I — —”

      “Not at all,” said the man. “I quite understand. I was not playing cribbage, but I was doing nothing very important. However, as you certainly did take me by surprise, perhaps you will excuse my coat.”

      “Oh, pray dont mind me. I must not interrupt your work.” She looked at his face again, but only for an instant, as he was watching her. Then, with another blush, she put out her hand and said, “How do you do, Mr. Conolly. I did not recognize you at first.”

      He shook hands, but did not offer any further conversation. “What a wonderful place!” she said, looking round, with a view to making herself agreeable by taking an interest in everything. “Wont you explain it all to me? To begin with, what is electricity?”

      Conolly stared rather at this question, and then shook his head. “I dont know anything about that,” he said; “I am only a workman. Perhaps Lord Carbury can tell you: he has read a good deal about it.”

      Marian looked incredulously at him. “I am sure you are joking,” she said. “Lord Carbury says you know ever so much more than he does. I suppose I asked a stupid question. What are those reels of green silk for?”

      “Ah,” said Conolly, relaxing. “Come now, I can tell you that easily enough. I dont know what it is, but I know what it does, and I can lay traps to catch it. Here now, for instance — —”

      And he went on to deliver a sort of chatty Royal Institution Children’s Lecture on Electricity which produced a great impression on Marian, who was accustomed to nothing better than small talk. She longed to interest him by her comments and questions, but she found that they had a most discouraging effect on him. Redoubling her efforts, she at last reduced him to silence, of which she availed herself to remark, with great earnestness, that science was a very wonderful thing.

      “How do you know?” he said, a little bluntly.

      “I am sure it must be,” she replied, brightening; for she thought he had now made a rather foolish remark. “Is Lord Carbury a very clever scientist?”

      Conolly looked just grave enough to suggest that the question was not altogether a discreet one. Then, brushing off that consideration, he replied:

      “He has seen a great deal and read a great deal. You see, he has great means at his disposal. His property is as good as a joint-stock company at his back. Practically, he is very good, considering his method of working: not so good, considering the means at his disposal.”

      “What would you do if you had his means?”

      Conolly made a gesture which plainly signified that he thought he could do a great many things.

      “And is science, then, so expensive? I thought it was beyond the reach of money.”

      “Oh, yes: science may be. But I am not a scientific man: I’m an inventor. The two things are quite different. Invention is the most expensive thing in the world. It takes no end of time, and no end of money. Time is money; so it costs both ways.”

      “Then why dont you discover something and make your fortune?”

      “I have already discovered something.”

      “Oh! What is it?”

      “That it costs a fortune to make experiments enough to lead to an invention.”

      “You are exaggerating, are you not? What do you mean by a fortune?”

      “In my case, at least four or five hundred pounds.”

      “Is that all? Surely you would have no difficulty in getting five hundred pounds.”

      Conolly laughed. “To be sure,” said he. “What is five hundred pounds?”

      “A mere nothing — considering the importance of the object. You really ought not to allow such a consideration as that to delay your career. I have known people spend as much in one day on the most worthless things.”

      “There is something in that, Miss Lind. How would you recommend me to begin?”

      “First,” said Marian, with determination, “make up your mind to spend the money. Banish all scruples about the largeness of the sum. Resolve not to grudge even twice as much to science.”

      “That is done already. I have quite made up my mind to spend the money.

       What next?”

      “Well, I suppose the next thing is to spend it.”

      “Excuse me. The next thing is to get it. It is a mere detail, I know; but I should like to settle it before we go any further.”

      “But how can I tell you that? You forget that I am quite unacquainted with your affairs. You are a man, and understand business, which of course I dont.”

      “If you wanted five hundred pounds, Miss Lind, how would you set about getting it? — if I may ask.”

      “What? I! But, as I say, I am only a woman. I should ask my father for it, or sign a receipt for my trustees, or something of that sort.”

      “That is a very simple plan. But unfortunately I have no father and no trustees. Worse than that, I have no money. You must suggest some other way.”

      “Do what everybody else does in your circumstances. Borrow it. I am sure

       Lord Carbury would lend it to you.”

      Conolly shook his head. “It doesnt do for a man in my position to start borrowing the moment he makes the acquaintance of a man in Lord Carbury’s,” he said. “We are working a little together already on one of my ideas, and that is as far as I care to ask him to go. I am afraid I must ask you for another suggestion.”

      “Save up all your money until you have enough.”

      “That would take some time. Let me see. As I am an exceptionally fortunate and specially skilled workman, I can now calculate on making from seventy shillings to six pounds a week. Say four pounds on the average.”

      “Ah,” said Marian, despondingly, “you would have to wait more than two years to save five hundred pounds.”

      “And to dispense with food, clothes, and lodging in the meantime.”

      “True,” said Marian. “Of course, I see that it is impossible for you to save anything. And yet it seems absurd to be stopped by the want of such a sum. I have a cousin who has no money at all, and no experiments to make, and he paid a thousand pounds for a racehorse last spring.”

      Conolly nodded, to intimate that he knew that such things happened.

      Marian could