*
The dining room was very pleasant, with a fire crackling merrily in the large grate, dispelling the chill of the autumn evening. A long, polished wooden table took up the centre of the room, and at the head of it sat the Professor. He rose when he saw me enter, giving a little bow. He was formally dressed, and I suddenly felt my attire to be far less adequate than I had a few minutes ago, but if he found some deficiency in my dress he was polite enough not to say so.
“Miss Featherstone,” he said with evident warmth. “Welcome. I apologise for being unable to greet you personally this afternoon; I was engaged in an experiment that could not be neglected.”
“I am pleased to meet you, sir,” I said, “and please don’t trouble yourself. Jonas provided for me more than adequately.”
He laughed, a great booming laugh that I found almost infectious; I felt myself smiling automatically in response. “I doubt that,” he said. “But Jonas is a good man, despite his lack of sociability. Please, have a seat.” He pulled out a chair for me to his left and I sat obediently. In truth, I was somewhat taken aback. I had expected a notable eccentric, not this charming and, truth be told, rather handsome man.
The Professor was a man of middle years – I would hazard a guess at forty – but his hair was still jet-black, with only a few streaks of grey appearing at the temples. His moustache, which grew thick and luxuriant, was likewise not lacking in pigment. He had a distinguished, aristocratic nose and a firmly-set jaw; the overall effect I found very pleasing. I had expected his eyes to be dark like Sophie’s, but they were of the palest grey-blue, a striking feature in an otherwise tanned face. When he smiled I could recognise some similarity with his daughter, but I suspected she must take most strongly after her mother.
“I trust you are settling in well?” he asked, as Jonas entered bearing soup.
I nodded. “Sophie and I became acquainted this afternoon,” I said. “She’s a sweet child and seems keen to learn.” I did not tell him of my real impressions, nor about the disastrous game of hide-and-seek, partly out of wounded pride and partly because I knew I would never win Sophie’s trust if I went to her father at the slightest infraction.
“She is a bright girl, no doubt,” he said, “but she is undisciplined with regard to her studies. I would teach her myself, but I am much preoccupied with my work, and also I fear our temperaments would not allow for much progress.” He gave a charming half-smile, little more than a faint crinkle around the eyes, which I took to mean that father and daughter both possessed the same fiery streak.