"Here," when he does come in, is a most untidy place, made up of all
things heterogeneous. Now that he is nearer to her, he can see that
she has been crying vehemently, and that the tears still stand thick
within her eyes.

"I felt I _must_ see you," says she, "to tell you--to ask you.
To--Oh! you _heard_ what she said! Do--do _you_ think----?"

"Not at all, not at all," declares the professor hurriedly.
"Don't--_don't_ cry, Perpetua! Look here," laying his hand nervously
upon her shoulder and giving her a little angry shake. _"Don't_ cry!
Good heavens! Why should you mind that awful old woman?"

Nevertheless, he had minded that awful old woman himself very
considerably.

"But--it _is_ soon, isn't it?" says she. "I know that myself, and
yet--" wistfully--"I can't help it. I _do_ want to see things, and
to amuse myself."

"Naturally," says the professor.

"And it isn't that I _forget_ him," says she in an eager, intense
tone, "I _never_ forget him--never--never. Only I do want to laugh
sometimes and to be happy, and to see Mr. Irving as Charles I."

The climax is irresistible. The professor is unable to suppress a
smile.

"I'm afraid, from what I have heard, _that_ won't make you laugh,"