Classicly

The Professor arrived the next day, casting keen, curious glances about him. The sober stateliness of the house, the old family servants, the unobtrusive perfection of every detail indoors and out, and the easy kindliness of the young master and mistress—all were, so to speak, noted in his memory and labelled for reference. He remarked also Zoe’s unconcealed eagerness for the hour when the family papers were to be examined, and the tolerant resignation with which Maurice awaited it. He would find the motive force in the sister, the staying power in the brother, he assured himself again.

“This is what will interest you most, I expect,” said Maurice, when they had retired to the library after dinner, unrolling a long parchment scroll as he spoke. “It is our family tree, properly drawn out.” Professor Panagiotis peered at the document with a hungry look. “You are right,” he said; “it is priceless. Your family has dwindled strangely, Mr Teffany. I cannot tell you how many collateral branches I have followed up, only to find that they died out, while the direct line was in existence unknown to me.”