What is your name?"
He offered me a card, with "Professor Westervelt" engraved on it. At
the same time, as if to vindicate his claim to the professorial
dignity, so often assumed on very questionable grounds, he put on a
pair of spectacles, which so altered the character of his face that I
hardly knew him again. But I liked the present aspect no better than
the former one.
"I must decline any further connection with your affairs," said I,
drawing back. "I have told you where to find Zenobia. As for
Priscilla, she has closer friends than myself, through whom, if they
see fit, you can gain access to her."
"In that case," returned the Professor, ceremoniously raising his hat,
"good-morning to you."
He took his departure, and was soon out of sight among the windings
of the wood-path. But after a little reflection, I could not help
regretting that I had so peremptorily broken off the interview, while
the stranger seemed inclined to continue it. His evident knowledge
of matters affecting my three friends might have led to disclosures
or inferences that would perhaps have been serviceable. I was
particularly struck with the fact that, ever since the appearance of
Priscilla, it had been the tendency of events to suggest and
establish a connection between Zenobia and her. She had come, in the
first instance, as if with the sole purpose of claiming Zenobia's
protection. Old Moodie's visit, it appeared, was chiefly to
ascertain whether this object had been accomplished.
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