She was disturbed in her reverie by the arrival of a young man, who
seated himself in the next chair at her desk; she turned to her book and
papers and began to work; but now a fresh difficulty arose in the
conduct of the young man beside her; the attendant had brought him a
pile of books, and the young fellow was turning them over, in a restless
way, thrusting his hands through his hair, fidgeting with his feet and
muttering impatiently and despairingly.

Celia glanced at him involuntarily. She saw that he was young and
boyish-looking; there was a look of perplexity and worry in his blue
eyes, and muttering a word of apology he rose and went quickly to the
inner circle, the rotunda, where the patient and long-suffering
superintendent stands to be badgered by questions from the readers
needing the assistance of his wonderfully-stored brain. In a minute or
two the young man came back, accompanied by an attendant bearing another
pile of books.

"I don't know whether you'll find what you want," he said; "but it's all
I know of it." He looked at Celia as he spoke, and added, "Oh, perhaps
this young lady can help you; she does antiquarian work."

The young man coloured and raised his eyes appealingly to Celia.

"Oh, I couldn't trouble you," he said, humbly.

"What is it?" she asked. "I shall be glad to help you, if I can."