hild has created it, yet why, or how? Was ever guardian mastered by a
ward before? A desire to escape is filling him, but he has got to do his
duty to his dead friend, and this is part of it.

He has retired to the far-off lounge with a view to doing it as
distantly as possible, but even this poor subterfuge fails him. Miss
Wynter, picking up a milking-stool, advances leisurely towards him, and
seating herself upon it just in front of him, crosses her hands over her
knees and looks expectantly up at him with a charming smile.

"_Now_ we can have a good talk," says she.

CHAPTER III.

"And if you dreamed how a friend's smile
And nearness soothe a heart that's sore,
You might be moved to stay awhile
Before my door."

"About?" begins the professor, and stammers, and ceases.

"Everything," says she, with a little nod. "It is impossible to talk to
Aunt Jane. She doesn't talk, she only argues, and always wrongly. But
you are different. I can see that. Now tell me,"--she leans even more
forward and looks intently at the professor, her pretty brows wrinkled
as if with extreme and troublous thought--"What are the duties of a
guardian?"

"Eh?" says the professor. He moves his glasses up to his forehead and
then pulls them down again. Did ever anxious student ask him question so
difficult of answer as this one--that this small maiden has propounded?

"You can think it over," says she most graciously. "There is no hurry,
and I am quite aware that one isn't made a guardian _every_ day. Do you
think you could make it out whilst I count forty?"

"I think I could make it out more quickly if you didn't count at all,"
says the professor, who is growing warm. "The duties of a
guardian--are--er--to--er--to see that one's ward is comfortable and
happy."

"Then there is a great deal of duty for _you_ to do," says she solemnly,
letting her chin slip into the hollow of her hand.

"I know--I'm sure of it," says the professor with a sigh that might be
called a groan. "But your aunt, Miss Majendie--your mother's
sister--can----"

"I don't believe she's my mother's sister," says Miss Wynter calmly. "I
have seen my mother's picture. It is lovely! Aunt Jane was a
changeling--I'm sure of it. But never mind her. You were going to
say----?"

"That Miss Majendie, who is virtually your guardian--can explain it all
to you much better than I can."

"Aunt Jane is _not_ my guardian!" The mild look of enquiry cha