He is a curious person, Sydney Atherton.  I suppose it is because I have known him all my life, and have always looked upon him, in cases of necessity, as a capital substitute for a brother, that I criticise him with so much frankness.  In some respects, he is a genius; in others—­I will not write fool, for that he never is, though he has often done some extremely foolish things.  The fame of his inventions is in the mouths of all men; though the half of them has never been told.  He is the most extraordinary mixture.  The things which most people would like to have proclaimed in the street, he keeps tightly locked in his own bosom; while those which the same persons would be only too glad to conceal, he shouts from the roofs.  A very famous man once told me that if Mr Atherton chose to become a specialist, to take up one branch of inquiry, and devote his life to it, his fame, before he died, would bridge the spheres.  But sticking to one thing is not in Sydney’s line at all.  He prefers, like the bee, to roam from flower to flower.

As for his being in love with me; it is ridiculous.  He is as much in love with the moon.  I cannot think what has put the idea into his head.  Some girl must have been ill-using him, or he imagines that she has.  The girl whom he ought to marry, and whom he ultimately will marry, is Dora Grayling.  She is young, charming, immensely rich, and over head and ears in love with him;—­if she were not, then he would be over head and ears in love with her.  I believe he is very near it as it is,—­sometimes he is so very rude to her.  It is a characteristic of Sydney’s, that he is apt to be rude to a girl whom he really likes.  As for Dora, I suspect she dreams of him.  He is tall, straight, very handsome, with a big moustache, and the most extraordinary eyes;—­I fancy that those eyes of his have as much to do with Dora’s state as anything.  I have heard it said that he possesses the hypnotic power to an unusual degree, and that, if he chose to exercise it, he might become a danger to society.  I believe he has hypnotised Dora.

He makes an excellent brother.  I have gone to him, many and many a time, for help,—­and some excellent advice I have received.  I daresay I shall consult him still.  There are matters of which one would hardly dare to talk to Paul.  In all things he is the great man.  He could hardly condescend to chiffons.  Now Sydney can and does.  When he is in the mood, on the vital subject of trimmings a woman could not appeal to a sounder authority.  I tell him, if he had been a dressmaker, he would have been magnificent.  I am sure he would.

CHAPTER XXV

THE MAN IN THE STREET

This morning I had an adventure.

I was in the breakfast-room.  Papa, as usual, was late for breakfast, and I was wondering whether I should begin without him, when, chancing to look round, something caught my eye in the street.  I went to the window to see what it was.  A small crowd of people was in the middle of the road, and they were all staring at something which, apparently, was lying on the ground.  What it was I could not see.