"I would give a flower to _anyone!"_ says she in a quick scornful
fashion. The professor catches the ungraciously given gift, toys
with it, and--keeps it. Is that small action of his unseen?

"I hope," he says in a dull way, "that you are not angry with him
because he came first to me. It was a sense of duty--I know, I
_feel_--compelled him to do it, together with his honest diffidence
about your affection for him. Do not let pride stand in the way
of----"

"Nonsense!" says Perpetua, with a rapid movement of her hand. "Pride
has no part in it. I do not care for Mr. Hardinge--I shall not marry
him."

A little mist seems to gather before the professor's eyes. His
glasses seem in the way, he drops them, and now stands gazing at
her, as if disbelieving his senses. In fact he does disbelieve in
them.

"Are you sure?" persists he. "Afterwards you may regret----"

"Oh, no!" says she, shaking her head. _"Mr. Hardinge_ will not be
the one to cause me regret."

"Still, think----"

"Think! Do you imagine I have not been thinking?" cries she, with
sudden passion. "Do you imagine I do not know why you plead his
cause so eloquently? You want to get _rid_ of me. You are _tired_ of