"One's views _have_ to be extreme in these days if one would
continue in the paths of virtue," said Miss Majendie. _"Your_
views," with a piercing and condemnatory glance, "are evidently
_not_ extreme. One word for all, Mr. Curzon, and this argument is at
an end. I shall not permit my niece, with my permission, to walk
with you or any other man whilst under my protection."

"I daresay you are right--no doubt--no doubt" mumbles the professor,
incoherently, now thoroughly frightened and demoralized. Good
heavens! What an awful old woman! And to think that this poor child
is under her care. He happens at this moment to look at the poor
child, and the scorn _for him_ that gleams in her large eyes
perfects his rout. To say that she was _right!_

"If Perpetua wishes to go for a walk," says Miss Majendie, breaking
through a mist of angry feeling that is only half on the surface, "I
am here to accompany her."

"I don't want to go for a walk--with you," says Perpetua, rudely it
must be confessed, though her tone is low and studiously reserved.
"I don't want to go for a walk _at all."_ She pauses, and her voice
chokes a little, and then suddenly she breaks into a small passion
of vehemence. "I want to go somewhere, to _see_ something," she
cries, gazing imploringly at Curzon.

"To _see_ something!" says her aunt, "why it was only last Sunday I
took you to Westminster Abbey, where you saw the grandest edifice in
all the world."