Linda fell in love all in one evening with his fiery eyes, black beard, the Northumbrian burr of his pronunciation, and the daring of his utterances, though she could scarcely grasp one of his hypotheses.  Her uncle and aunt being narrowly pietistic she was bored to death with the Old Testament, and Rossiter’s scarcely concealed contempt for the Mosaic story of creation captured her intellect; while the physical attraction she felt was that which the tall, handsome, resolute brunet has for the blue-eyed fluffy little blonde.  She openly made love to him over the tea and coffee served at the “soiree” which followed the lecture.  Her slow-witted guardian had no objection to offer; and there were not wanting go-betweens to urge on Rossiter with stories of her wealth and the expanding value of her financial interests.  He wanted to marry; he was touched by her ill-concealed passion, found her pretty and appealingly childlike.  So, after a short wooing, he married her and her five thousand pounds a year, and settled down in Park Crescent, Portland Place, so as to be near the Zoo and Tudell’s dissecting rooms, to have the Royal Botanic gardens within three minutes’ walk, and the opportunity of turning a large studio in the rear of his house into a well-equipped chemical and dissecting laboratory.  One of his close pursuits at that time was the analysis of the Thyroid gland and its functions, its over or under development in British statesmen, dramatic authors and East End immigrants.

CHAPTER III

DAVID VAVASOUR WILLIAMS

It is in the spring of 1901.  A fine warm evening, but at eight o’clock the dusk is already on the verge of darkness as Honoria emerges from the lift at her Chancery Lane Office (near the corner of Carey Street), puts her latch-key into the door of the partners’ room, and finds herself confronting the silhouette of a young man against the western glow of the big window.

Norie (inwardly rather frightened):  “Hullo!  Who are you and what are you doing here?”

Vivie (mimicking a considerate, cringing burglar):  “Sorry to startle you, lidy, but I don’t mean no ’arm.  I’ll go quiet.  Me name’s D.V.  Williams...”

Norie:  “You absurd creature!  But you shouldn’t play such pranks on these respectable premises.  You gave me a horrid start, and I realized for the first time that I’ve got a heart.  I really must sit down and pant.”

Vivie:  “I am sorry, dearest.  I had not the slightest notion you would be letting yourself into the office at this hour—­8 o’clock—­and I was just returning from my crammers...”

Norie:  “I came for those Cranston papers.  Mother is ill.  I may have to sit up with her after Violet Hunt goes, so I thought I would come here, fetch the bundle of papers and plans, and go through them in the silent watches of the night, if mother sleeps.  But do you mean to say you have already started this masquerade?”