lightly, in spite of her fifty
years and her too, too solid flesh, and presently returns with the
professor's best coat and a clothes brush that, from its appearance,
might reasonably be supposed to have been left behind by Noah when he
stepped out of the Ark. With this latter (having put the coat on him)
she proceeds to belabor the professor with great spirit, and presently
sends him forth shining--if not _in_ternally, at all events
_ex_ternally.

In truth the professor's mood is not a happy one. Sitting in the hansom
that is taking him all too swiftly to his destination, he dwells with
terror on the girl--the undesired ward--who has been thrust upon him. He
has quite made up his mind about her. An Australian girl! One knows what
to expect _there_! Health unlimited; strength tremendous; and
noise--_much_ noise.

Yes, she is sure to be a _big_ girl. A girl with branching limbs, and a
laugh you could hear a mile off. A young woman with no sense of the
fitness of things, and a settled conviction that nothing could shake,
that "'Strailia" is _the_ finest country on earth! A bouncing creature
who _never_ sits down; to whom rest or calm is unknown, and whose
highest ambition will be to see the Tower and the wax-works.

Her hair is sure to be untidy; hanging probably in straight, black locks
over her forehead, and her frock will look as if it had been pitchforked
on to her, and requires only the insubordination of _one_ pin to leave
her without it again.

The professor is looking pale, but has on him all the air of one
prepared for _anything_ as the maid shows him into the drawing-room of
the house where Miss Jane Majendie lives.

His thoughts are still full of her niece. _Her_ niece, poor woman, and
_his_ ward--poor _man_! when the door opens and _some one_ comes in.

_Some one!_

The professor gets slowly on to his feet, and stares at the advancing
apparition. Is it child or woman, this fair vision? A hard question to
answer! It is quite easy to read, however, that "some one" is very
lovely!

"It is you; Mr. Curzon, is it not?" says the vision.

Her voice is sweet and clear, a little petulant perhaps, but still
_very_ sweet. She is quite small--a _little_ girl--and clad in deep
mourning. There is something pathetic about the dense black surrounding
such a radiant face, and such a childish figure. Her eyes are fixed on
the professor, and there is evident anxiety in their hazel depths; her
soft lips are parted; sh