The professor had spared enough time from his bugs and beetles to
notice how blue Kate's eyes were, and how luxurious her hair; then he
had also, with some misgivings, regarded his own in the mirror, with
the unassuring result that his hair was thinning on top and his eyes
looked old through his gold-bowed spectacles.
The discovery did not meet with the indifference one might have
expected on the part of the conscientious entomologist. He fell even
to the depths of reading hair-restoring circulars and he spent
considerable time debating whether he should change his spectacles for
a pince-nez.
The spectacles, however, continued to do their work nobly for the
professor, not only assisting him to make his scientific observations
on the habits of a potato-bug in captivity, but showing him with far
more clearness that Kate Brewster and Lennox Sanderson contrived to
spend a great deal of time in each other's society, and that both
seemed to enjoy the time thus spent.
The professor went back to his beetles, but they palled. The most
gorgeous butterfly ever constructed had not one-tenth the charm for him
that was contained in a glance of Kate Brewster's eyes, or a glimpse of
her golden head as she flitted about the house. And so the autumn
waned.