," says she, with a petulant shrug, "_I_ know
what I mean always. And as I tell you, if you _have_ come here to-day to
lay before me, for my consideration, the name of another of your friends
who wishes to marry me, why I beg you to save yourself the trouble. Even
the country does not save me from suitors. I can make my choice from
many, and when I _do_ want to marry, I shall choose for myself."

"Still--if you would permit me to name _this_ one," begins Curzon, very
humbly, "it can do you no harm to hear of him. And it all lies in your
own power. You can, if you will, say yes, or----" He pauses. The pause
is eloquent, and full of deep entreaty.

"Or no," supplies she calmly. "True! You," with a half defiant, half
saucy glance, "are beginning to learn that a guardian cannot control one
altogether."

"I don't think I ever controlled you, Perpetua."

"N--o! Perhaps not. But then you tried to. That's worse."

"Do you forbid me then to lay before you--this name--that I----?"

"I have told you," says she, "that I can find a name for myself."

"You forbid me to speak," says he slowly.

"_I_ forbid! A ward forbid her guardian! I should be afraid!" says she,
with an extremely naughty little glance at him.

"You trifle with me," says the professor slowly, a little sternly, and
with uncontrolled despair. "I thought--I believed--I was _mad_ enough to
imagine, from your manner to me that last night we met, that I was
something more than a mere guardian to you."

"More than _that_. That seems to be a Herculean relation. What more
would you be?"

"I am no longer that, at all events."

"What!" cries she, flushing deeply. "You--you give me up----"

"It is you who give _me_ up."

"You say you will no longer be my guardian!" She seems struck with
amazement at this declaration on his part. She had not believed him when
he had before spoken of his intention of resigning. "But you cannot,"
says she. "You have promised. Papa _said_ you were to take care of me."

"Your father did not know."

"He _did_. He said you were the one man in all the world he could
trust."

"Impossible," says the professor. "A--lover--cannot be a guardian!" His
voice has sunk to a whisper. He turns away, and makes a step towards the
door.

"You are going," cries she, fighting with a desperate desire for tears,
that is still strongly allied to anger. "You would leave me. You will be
no longer my guardian, Ah! was I not right? Did I not _tell_ you