there is silence for a moment, a _little_ moment, and then Miss
Majendie looks at her.

"'The gayest thing in all the world!' _and your father only four
months dead!"_ says she, slowly, remorselessly.

All in a moment, as it were, the little crimson angry face grows
white--white as death itself. The professor, shocked beyond words,
stands staring, and marking the sad changes in it. Perpetua is
trembling from head to foot. A frightened look has come into her
beautiful eyes--her breath comes quickly. She is as a thing at
bay--hopeless, horrified. Her lips part as if she would say
something. But no words come. She casts one anguished glance at the
professor, and rushes from the room.

It was but a momentary glimpse into a heart, but it was terrible.
The professor turns upon Miss Majendie in great wrath.

"That was cruel--uncalled for!" says he, a strange feeling in his
heart that he has not time to stop and analyse _then_. "How could
you hurt her so? Poor child! Poor girl! She _loved_ him!"

"Then let her show respect to his memory," says Miss Majendie
vindictively. She is unmoved--undaunted.

"She was not wanting in respect." His tone is hurried. This woman
with the remorseless eye is too much for the gentle professor. "All
she _does_ want is change, amusement. She is young. Youth must
enjoy."