afraid I wasn't nice to
her. I'm sorry for that, but--one isn't a bit of stone, you know, and
she said something--about my mother," her eyes grow very brilliant here,
"and when I walked up to her she apologized for that, but afterwards she
said something about poor, _poor_ papa--and ... well, that was the end.
I told her--amongst _other_ things--that I thought she was 'too old to
be alive,' and she didn't seem to mind the 'other things' half as much
as that, though they were awful. At all events," with a little wave of
her hands, "she's lectured me now for good; I shall never see _her_
again! I've run away to you! See?"

It must be acknowledged that the professor _doesn't_ see. He is still
sitting on the edge of the table--dumb.

"Oh! I'm so _glad_ I've left her," says Perpetua, with indeed heartfelt
delight in look and tone. "But--do you know--I'm hungry. You--you
couldn't let me make you a cup of tea, could you? I'm dreadfully
thirsty! What's that in your glass?"

"Nothing," says the professor hastily. He removes the half-finished
tumbler of whisky and soda, and places it in the open cupboard.

"It looked like _something_," says she. "But what about tea?"

"I'll see what I can do," says he, beginning to busy himself amongst
many small contrivances in the same cupboard. It has gone to his heart
to hear that she is hungry and thirsty, but even in the midst of his
preparations for her comfort, a feeling of rage takes possession of him.

He pulls his head out of the cupboard and turns to her.

"You must be _mad_!" says he.

"Mad? Why?" asks she.

"To come here. Here! And at this hour!"

"There was no other place; and I wasn't going to live under _her_ roof
another second. I said to myself that she was my aunt, but you were my
guardian. Both of you have been told to look after me, and I prefer to
be looked after by you. It is so simple," says she, with a suspicion of
contempt in her tone, "that I wonder why you wonder at it. As I
preferred _you_--of course I have come to live with you."

"You _can't_!" gasps the professor, "you must go back to Miss Majendie
at once!"

"To _her_! I'm not going back," steadily. "And even if I would,"
triumphantly, "I couldn't. As she sleeps at the top of the house (to get
_air_, she says), and so does her maid, you might ring until you were
black in the face, and she wouldn't hear you."

"Well! you can't stay here!" says the professor, getting off the table
and addressing he