Lurida was in an excited condition, in the midst of all her new interests and occupations.  She was constantly on the lookout for papers to be read at the meetings of her Society,—­for she made it her own in great measure, by her zeal and enthusiasm,—­and in the mean time she was reading in various books which Dr. Butts selected for her, all bearing on the profession to which, at least as a possibility, she was looking forward.  Privately and in a very still way, she was occupying herself with the problem of the young stranger, the subject of some delusion, or disease, or obliquity of unknown nature, to which the vague name of antipathy had been attached.  Euthymia kept an eye upon her, partly in the fear that over-excitement would produce some mental injury, and partly from anxiety lest she should compromise her womanly dignity in her desire to get at the truth of a very puzzling question.

“How do you like the books I see you reading?” said Euthymia to Lurida, one day, as they met at the Library.

“Better than all the novels I ever read,” she answered.  “I have been reading about the nervous system, and it seems to me I have come nearer the springs of life than ever before in all my studies.  I feel just as if I were a telegraph operator.  I was sure that I had a battery in my head, for I know my brain works like one; but I did not know how many centres of energy there are, and how they are played upon by all sorts of influences, external and internal.  Do you know, I believe I could solve the riddle of the ‘Arrowhead Village Sphinx,’ as the paper called him, if he would only stay here long enough?”

“What paper has had anything about it, Lurida?  I have not seen or heard of its being mentioned in any of the papers.”

“You know that rather queer-looking young man who has been about here for some time,—­the same one who gave the account of his interview with a celebrated author?  Well, he has handed me a copy of a paper in which he writes, ‘The People’s Perennial and Household Inquisitor.’  He talks about this village in a very free and easy way.  He says there is a Sphinx here, who has mystified us all.”

“And you have been chatting with that fellow!  Don’t you know that he’ll have you and all of us in his paper?  Don’t you know that nothing is safe where one of those fellows gets in with his note-book and pencil?  Oh, Lurida, Lurida, do be careful!” What with this mysterious young man and this very questionable newspaper-paragraph writer, you will be talked about, if you don’t mind, before you know it.  You had better let the riddle of the Sphinx alone.  If you must deal with such dangerous people, the safest way is to set one of them to find out the other.—­I wonder if we can’t get this new man to interview the visitor you have so much curiosity about.  That might be managed easily enough without your having anything to do with it.  Let me alone, and I will arrange it.  But mind, now, you must not meddle; if you do, you will spoil everything, and get your name in the ‘Household Inquisitor’ in a way you won’t like.”