"Certainly! It was you who suggested the idea that, being so much
older than my niece, Miss Wynter, you could therefore escort her
here and there--in fact _everywhere_--in fact"--with awful
meaning--_"any_ where!"

"I assure you, madam," begins the professor, springing to his
feet--Perpetua puts out a white hand.

"Ah! let her talk," says she. _"Then_ you will understand."

"But men's ages, sir, are a snare and a delusion!" continues Miss
Majendie, who has now mounted her hobby, and will ride it to the
death. "Who can tell the age of any man in this degenerate age? We
look at their faces, and say _he_ must be so and so, and _he_ a few
years younger, but looks are vain, they tell us nothing. Some look
old, because they _are_ old, some look old--through _vice!"_

The professor makes an impatient gesture. But Miss Majendie is equal
to most things.

"'Who excuses himself _accuses_ himself,'" quotes she with
terrible readiness. "Why that gesture, Mr. Curzon? I made no mention
of _your_ name. And indeed, I trust your age would place you outside
of any such suspicion, still, I am bound to be careful where my
niece's interests are concerned. You, as her guardian if a
_faithful_ guardian" (with open doubt as to this, expressed in eye
and pointed finger), "should be the first to applaud my caution."

"You take an extreme view," begins the professor, a little feebly,
perhaps. That eye and that pointed finger have cowed him.