Marching along, as usual, with his head in the air, and his thoughts
in the ages when dates were unknown, a soft, eager voice calling his
name brings him back to the fact that he is walking up Bond Street.

In a carriage, exceedingly well appointed, and with her face
wreathed in smiles, and one hand impulsively extended, sits
Perpetua. Evidently the owner of the carriage is in the shop making
purchases, whilst Perpetua sits without, awaiting her.

"Were you going to cut me?" cries she. "What luck to meet you here.
I am having such a _lovely_ day. Mrs. Constans has taken me out with
her, and I am to dine with her, and go with her to a concert in the
evening."

She has poured it all out, all her good news in a breath, as though
sure of a sympathetic listener.

He is too good a listener. He is listening so hard, he is looking so
intensely, that he forgets to speak, and Perpetua's sudden gaiety
forsakes her. Is he angry? Does he think----?

"It's _only_ a concert," says she, flushing and hesitating. "Do you
think that one should not go to a concert when----"

"Yes?" questions the professor abstractedly, as she comes to a full
stop. He has never seen her dressed like this before. She is all in
black to be sure, but _such_ black, and her air! She looks quite the
little heiress, like a little queen indeed--radiant, lovely.

_"Well_--when one is in mourning," says she somewhat impatiently,