dislike the idea, still, it was your poor father's wish that I
should, in a measure, regulate your life until your coming of age. I
am here to-day to let you know--that--Mr. Hardinge has requested me
to tell you that he----"

The professor pauses, feeling that he is failing miserably. He, the
fluent speaker at lectures, and on public platforms, is now bereft
of the power to explain one small situation.

"What's the matter with Mr. Hardinge," asks Perpetua, "that he can't
come here himself? Nothing serious, I hope?"

"I am your guardian," says the professor--unfortunately, with all
the air of one profoundly sorry for the fact declared, "and he
wishes _me_ to tell you that he--is desirous of marrying you."

Perpetua stares at him. Whatever bitter thoughts are in her mind,
she conceals them.

"He is a most thoughtful young man," says she, blandly. "And--and
you're another."

"I hope I am thoughtful, if I am not young," says the professor,
with dignity. Her manner puzzles him. "With regard to Hardinge, I
wish you to know that--that I--have known him for years, and that he
is in my opinion a strictly honorable, kind-hearted man. He is of
good family. He has money. He will probably succeed to a
baronetcy--though this is not _certain,_ as his uncle is,
comparatively speaking, young still. But even without the title,
Hardinge is a man worthy of any woman's esteem, and confidence,