"You hear her," says Miss Majendie coldly--she draws her shawl round
her meagre shoulders, and a breath through her lean nostrils that
may be heard. "Perhaps _you_ may be able to discover her meaning."

"What is it?" asks the professor, turning to the girl, his tone
anxious, uncertain. Young women with "wrongs" are unknown to him, as
are all other sorts of young women for the matter of that. And
_this_ particular young woman looks a little unsafe at the present
moment.

"I have told you! I am tired of this life. I am dull--stupid. I want
to go out." Her lovely eyes are flashing, her face is white--her
lips trembling. _"Take_ me out," says she suddenly.

"Perpetua!" exclaims Miss Majendie. "How unmaidenly! How immodest!"

Perpetua looks at her with large, surprised eyes.

"Why," says she.

"I really think," interrupts the professor hurriedly, who see
breakers ahead, "if I were to take Perpetua for a walk--a
drive--to--er--to some place or other--it might destroy this _ennui_
of which she complains. If you will allow her to come out with me
for an hour or so, I----"

"If you are waiting for _my_ sanction, Mr. Curzon, to that
extraordinary proposal, you will wait some time," says Miss Majendie
slowly, frigidly. She draws the shawl still closer, and sniffs
again.