Braddock used all the vast rooms of the ground floor to house his collection of antiquities, which he had acquired through many laborious years.  He dwelt entirely in this museum, as his bedroom adjoined his study, and he frequently devoured his hurried meals amongst the brilliantly tinted mummy cases.  The embalmed dead populated his world, and only now and then, when Lucy insisted, did he ascend to the first floor, which was her particular abode.  Here was the drawing-room, the dining-room and Lucy’s boudoir; here also were sundry bedrooms, furnished and unfurnished, in one of which Miss Kendal slept, while the others remained vacant for chance visitors, principally from the scientific world.  The third story was devoted to the cook, her husband—­who acted as gardener—­and to the house parlor maid, a composite domestic, who worked from morning until night in keeping the great house clean.  During the day these servants attended to their business in a comfortable basement, where the cook ruled supreme.  At the back of the mansion stretched a fairly large kitchen garden, to which the cook’s husband devoted his attention.  This was the entire domain belonging to the tenant, as, of course, the Professor did not rent the arable acres and comfortable farms which had belonged to the dispossessed family.

Everything in the house went smoothly, as Lucy was a methodical young person, who went by the clock and the almanac.  Braddock little knew how much of his undeniable comfort he owed to her fostering care; for, prior to her return from school, he had been robbed right and left by unscrupulous domestics.  When his step-daughter arrived he simply handed over the keys and the housekeeping money—­a fixed sum—­and gave her strict instructions not to bother him.  Miss Kendal faithfully observed this injunction, as she enjoyed being undisputed mistress, and knew that, so long as her step-father had his meals, his bed, his bath and his clothes, he required nothing save the constant society of his beloved mummies, of which no one wished to deprive him.  These he dusted and cleansed and rearranged himself.  Not even Lucy dared to invade the museum, and the mere mention of spring cleaning drove the Professor into displaying frantic rage, in which he used bad language.

On returning from her walk with Archie, the girl had lured her step-father into assuming a rusty dress suit, which had done service for many years, and had coaxed him into a promise to be present at dinner.  Mrs. Jasher, the lively widow of the district, was coming, and Braddock approved of a woman who looked up to him as the one wise man in the world.  Even science is susceptible to judicious flattery, and Mrs. Jasher was never backward in putting her admiration into words.  Female gossip declared that the widow wished to become the second Mrs. Braddock, but if this was really the case, she had but small chance of gaining her end.  The Professor had once sacrificed