going towards Everett's cupboard, "Everett's a Sybarite, you know,
of the worst kind--sure to find something here, and we can square it
with him afterwards. Beauty in distress, you know, appeals to all
hearts. _Here we are!"_ holding out at arm's length a pasty. "A
'weal and ammer!' Take it! The guilt be on my head!
Bread--butter--pickled onions! Oh, _not_ pickled onions, I think.
Really, I had no idea even Everett had fallen so low. Cheese!--about
to proceed on a walking tour! The young lady wouldn't care for that,
thanks. Beer! No. _No_. Sherry-Woine!"

"Give me that pie, and the bread and butter," says the professor, in
great wrath. "And let me tell you, Hardinge, that there are
occasions when one's high spirits can degenerate into offensiveness
and vulgarity!"

He marches out of the room and upstairs, leaving Hardinge, let us
hope, a prey to remorse. It is true, at least of that young man,
that he covers his face with his hands and sways from side to side,
as if overcome by some secret emotion. Grief--no doubt.

Perpetua is graciously pleased to accept the frugal meal the
professor brings her. She even goes so far as to ask him to share it
with her--which invitation he declines. He is indeed sick at
heart--not for himself--(the professor doesn't often think of
himself)--but for her. And where is she to sleep? To turn her out
now would be impossible! After all, it was a puerile trifling with
the Inevitable, to shirk asking Mrs. Mulcahy for something to eat
for his self-imposed guest--because the question of _Bed_ is still
to come! Mrs. Mulcahy, terrible, as she undoubtedly can be, is yet
the only woman in the house, and it is imperative that Perpetua