The Professor raised his eyes from a newly bought scarabeus to behold a stout little lady smiling on him from the doorway.

He did not appear to be grateful for the interruption, but Mrs.Jasher was not at all dismayed, being a man-hunter by profession.

Besides, she saw that Braddock was in the clouds as usual, and would have received the King himself in the same absent-minded manner.
"Pouf! what an abominal smell!" exclaimed the widow, holding a flimsy lace handkerchief to her nose.

"Kind of camphor-sandal-wood charnel-house smell.

I wonder you are not asphyxiated.