"Of course," says the professor gravely.

"Then you will take me away from Aunt Jane!" The small vivacious
face is now all aglow. "I am not happy with Aunt Jane. I"--clasping
her hands, and letting a quick, vindictive fire light her eyes--"I
_hate_ Aunt Jane. She says things about poor papa that---- _Oh!_ how
I hate her!"

"But--you shouldn't--you really should not. I feel certain you ought
not," says the professor, growing vaguer every moment.

"Ought I not?" with a quick little laugh that is all anger and no
mirth. "I _do_ though, for all that! I"--pausing, and regarding him
with a somewhat tragic air that sits most funnily upon her--"am not
going to stay here much longer!"

_"What!"_ says the professor aghast. "But my dear---- Miss Wynter,
I'm afraid you _must."_

"Why? What is she to me?"

"Your aunt."

"That's nothing--nothing at all--even a _guardian_ is better than
that. And you are my guardian. Why," coming closer to him and
pressing five soft little fingers in an almost feverish fashion upon
his arm, "why can't _you_ take me away?"

_"I?"_