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“Sir Dinadan; the son of the Baron,” said the youth, taking hold of the Professor’s hand, as if he were somewhat uncertain what he had better do with it.

“No last name?” asked the Professor.

“That is all. And you are?—”

“I am Everett L. Baffin, a Professor in the Wingohocking University. I was cast ashore down here with my daughter. Tilly, let me introduce to you Sir Dinadan.”

Sir Dinadan colored, and dropping upon his knee he seized Miss Baffin’s hand and kissed it. Rising, he said:

“What, Sir Baffin, is the name of the sweet lady?”

“Matilda.”

“How lovely!” exclaimed Sir Dinadan.

“It is abbreviated sometimes to Tilly, by her friends.”

“It is too beautiful,” said the youth, gazing at Miss Baffin with unconcealed admiration. “I trust, Sir Baffin, I may be able to serve in some manner you and the Lady Tilly.”

“Professor Baffin, my dear sir; not Sir Baffin. Permit me to offer you my card.”

Sir Dinadan took the card, and seemed perplexed as to its meaning. He turned it over and over in a despairing sort of way in his fingers.