brains, but not an ounce beyond that.

A tall, handsome young man, with fair brown hair and hazel eyes, a
dark moustache and a happy manner, Mr. Hardinge laughs his way
through life, without money, or love, or any other troubles.

"Can you ask?" says he. "Go on, Curzon. What is she like?"

"It wouldn't interest you," says the professor.

"I beg your pardon, it is profoundly interesting; I've got to keep
an eye on you, or else in a weak moment you will let her marry you."

The professor moves uneasily.

"May I ask how you knew I _had_ a ward?"

"That should go without telling. I arrived here to-night, to find
you absent and Mrs. Mulcahy in possession, pretending to dust the
furniture. She asked me to sit down--I obeyed her."

"'How's the professor?'" said I.

"'Me dear!' said she, 'that's a bad story. He's that distracted
over a young lady that his own mother wouldn't know him!'

"I acknowledge I blushed. I went even so far as to make a few
pantomimic gestures suggestive of the horror I was experiencing, and
finally I covered my face with my handkerchief. I regret to say that
Mrs. Mulcahy took my modesty in bad part.