ing?" says she dreamily.

"That the charm you possess, though of no value in the eyes of your
guardian, is, to _me_, indescribably attractive. In fact--I----"

A second pause, meant to be even more effective.

Perpetua turns her gaze more directly upon him. It occurs to her that he
is singularly dull, poor man.

"Go on," says she. She nods her head at him with much encouragement.

Her encouragement falls short. Sir Hastings, who had looked for girlish
confusion, is somewhat disconcerted by this open patronage.

"May I?" says he--"You _permit_ me then to tell you what I have so
longed, feared to disclose. I"--dramatically--"_love you_!"

He is standing over her, his hand on the back of her chair, waiting for
the swift blush, the tremor, the usual signs that follow on one of his
declarations. Alas! there is no blush now, no tremor, no sign at all.

"That is very good of you," says Perpetua, in an even tone. She moves a
little away from him, but otherwise shows no emotion whatever. "The more
so, in that it must be so difficult for you to love a person in fourteen
days! Ah! that is kind, indeed."

A curious light comes into Sir Hastings' eyes. This little Australian
girl, is she _laughing_ at him? But the fact is that Perpetua is hardly
thinking of him at all, or merely as a shadow to her thoughts. Who _is_
he like? that is the burden of her inward song. At this moment she
knows. She lifts her head to see the professor standing in the curtained
doorway down below. Ah! yes, that is it! And, indeed, the resemblance
between the two brothers is wonderfully strong at this instant! In the
eyes of both a quick fire is kindled.

CHAPTER XII.

"Love, like a June rose,
Buds and sweetly blows--
But tears its leaves disclose,
And among thorns it grows."

The professor had been standing inside the curtain for a full minute
before Perpetua had seen him. Spell-bound he had stood there, gazing at
the girl as if bewitched. Up to this he had seen her only in
black--black always--severe, cold--but _now_!

It is to him as though he had seen her for the first time. The graceful
curves of her neck, her snowy arms, the dead white of the gown against
the whiter glory of the soft bosom, the large, dark eyes so full of
feeling, the little dainty head! Are they _all_ new--or some sweet,
fresher memory of a picture well beloved?

Then he had seen his brother!--Hastings--the disgrace, the
_roue_ ... and ben