During the long convalescence following this illness the power of contemplation, which the Professor had up to then given to natural science, began to fix itself on life at large.  But the mind which had made of natural science an idea, a passion, was not content with vague reflections on life.  Slowly, subtly, with irresistible centrifugal force—­with a force which perhaps it would not have acquired but for that illness—­the idea, the passion of Universal Brotherhood had sucked into itself all his errant wonderings on the riddle of existence.  The single mind of this old man, divorced by illness from his previous existence, pensioned and permanently shelved, began to worship a new star, that with every week and month and year grew brighter, till all other stars had lost their glimmer and died out.

At the age of seventy-four he had begun his book.  Under the spell of his subject and of advancing age, his extreme inattention to passing matters became rapidly accentuated.  His figure had become almost too publicly conspicuous before Bianca, finding him one day seated on the roof of his lonely little top-story flat, the better to contemplate his darling Universe, had inveigled him home with her, and installed him in a room in her own house.  After the first day or two he had not noticed any change to speak of.

His habits in his new home were soon formed, and once formed, they varied not at all; for he admitted into his life nothing which took him from the writing of his book.

On the afternoon following Hilary’s dismissal of the little model, being disappointed of his amanuensis, Mr. Stone had waited for an hour, reading his pages over and over to himself.  He had then done his exercises.  At the usual time for tea he had sat down, and, with his cup and brown bread-and-butter alternately at his lips, had looked long and fixedly at the place where the girl was wont to sit.  Having finished, he left the room and went about the house.  He found no one but Miranda, who, seated in the passage leading to the studio, was trying to keep one eye on the absence of her master and the other on the absence of her mistress.  She joined Mr. Stone, maintaining a respect-compelling interval behind him when he went before, and before him when he went behind.  When they had finished hunting, Mr. Stone went down to the garden gate.  Here Bianca found him presently motionless, without a hat, in the full sun, craning his white head in the direction from which he knew the little model habitually came.  The mistress of the house was herself returning from her annual visit to the Royal Academy, where she still went, as dogs, from some perverted sense, will go and sniff round other dogs to whom they have long taken a dislike.  A loose-hanging veil depended from her mushroom-shaped and coloured hat.  Her eyes were brightened by her visit.  Mr. Stone soon seemed to take in who she was, and stood regarding her a minute without speaking.  His attitude towards his daughters was rather like that of an old drake towards two swans whom he has inadvertently begotten—­there was inquiry in it, disapproval, admiration, and faint surprise.