it better."

"But my thoughts of you. They are----" He pauses. What _are_ they? What
are his thoughts of her at all hours, all seasons? "They are always
kind," says he, lamely, in a low tone, looking at the carpet. That
downward glance condemns him in her eyes--to her it is but a token of
his guilt towards her.

"They are _not_!" says she, with a little stamp of her foot that makes
the professor jump. "You think of me as a cruel, wicked, worldly girl,
who would marry _anyone_ to gain position."

Here her fury dies away. It is overcome by something stronger. She
trembles, pales, and finally bursts into a passion of tears that have no
anger in them, only an intense grief.

"I do not," says the professor, who is trembling too, but whose
utterance is firm. "Whatever my thoughts are, _your_ reading of them is
entirely wrong."

"Well, at all events you can't deny one thing," says she checking her
sobs, and gazing at him again with undying enmity. "You want to get rid
of me, you are determined to marry me to some one, so as to get me out
of your way. But I shan't marry to please _you_. I needn't either. There
is somebody else who wants to marry me besides your--_your_ candidate!"
with an indignant glance. "I have had a letter from Sir Hastings this
afternoon. And," rebelliously, "I haven't answered it yet."

"Then you shall answer it now," says the professor. "And you shall say
'no' to him."

"Why? Because you order me?"

"Partly because of that. Partly because I trust to your own instincts to
see the wisdom of so doing."

"Ah! you beg the question," says she, "but I'm not so sure I shall obey
you for all that."

"Perpetua! Do not speak to me like that, I implore you," says the
professor, very pale. "Do you think I am not saying all this for your
good? Sir Hastings--he is my brother--it is hard for me to explain
myself, but he will not make you happy."

"Happy! _You_ think of my happiness?"

"Of what else?" A strange yearning look comes into his eyes. "God knows
it is _all_ I think of," says he.

"And so you would marry me to Mr. Hardinge?"

"Hardinge is a good man, and he loves you."

"If so, he is the only one on earth who does," cries the girl bitterly.
She turns abruptly away, and struggles with herself for a moment, then
looks back at him. "Well. I shall not marry him," says she.

"That is in your own hands," says the professor. "But I shall have
something to say about the other proposal you speak of.