ding over _her_!... There had been that little
movement, and the girl's calm drawing back, and----

The professor's step forward at that moment had betrayed him to
Perpetua.

She rises now, letting her fan fall without thought to the ground.

"You!" cries she, in a little, soft, quick way. "_You!_" Indeed it seems
to her impossible that it can be he.

She almost runs to him. If she had quite understood Sir Hastings is
impossible to know, for no one has ever asked her since, but certainly
the advent of her guardian is a relief to her.

"You!" she says again, as if only half believing. Her gaze grows
bewildered. If he had never seen her in anything but black before, she
had never seen him in ought but rather antiquated morning clothes. Is
this really the professor? Her eyes ask the question anxiously. This
tall, aristocratic, perfectly-appointed man; this man who looks
positively _young_. Where are the glasses that until now hid his eyes?
Where is that old, old coat?

"Yes." Yes, the professor certainly and as disagreeable as possible. His
eyes are still aflame; but Perpetua is not afraid of him. She is angry
with him, in a measure, but not afraid. One _might_ be afraid of Sir
Hastings, but of Mr. Curzon, no!

The professor had seen the glad rush of the girl towards him, and a
terrible pang of delight had run through all his veins--to be followed
by a reaction. She had come to him because she _wanted_ him, because he
might be of use to her, not because.... What had Hastings been saying to
her? His wrathful eyes are on his brother rather than on her when he
says:

"You are tired?"

"Yes," says Perpetua.

"Shall I take you to Gwendoline?"

"Yes," says Perpetua again.

"Miss Wynter is in my care at present," says Sir Hastings, coming
indolently forward. "Shall I take you to Lady Baring?" asks he,
addressing Perpetua with a suave smile.

"She will come with me," says the professor, with cold decision.

"A command!" says Sir Hastings, laughing lightly. "See what it is, Miss
Wynter, to have a hard-hearted guardian." He shrugs his shoulders.
Perpetua makes him a little bow, and follows the professor out of the
conservatory.

"If you are tired," says the professor, somewhat curtly, and without
looking at her, "I should think the best thing you could do would be to
go to bed!"

This astounding advice receives but little favor at Miss Wynter's hands.

"I am tired of your brother," says she promptly. "He is as