"Eh?" says the professor. "She was visible of course. She was kinder
than I expected."

"So, I see. She might so easily have made it your lip--or your
nose--or----"

_"What_ is there in Everett's cupboard besides the beer?" demands
the professor angrily. "For Heaven's sake! attend to me, and don't
sit there grinning like a first-class chimpanzee!"

This is extremely rude, but Hardinge takes no notice of it.

"I tell you she was kind--kinder than one would expect," says the
professor, rapping his knuckles on the table.

"Oh! I see. She? Miss Wynter?"

"No--Mrs. Mulcahy!" roars the professor frantically. "Where's your
head, man? Mrs. Mulcahy came into the room, and took Miss Wynter
into her charge in the--er--the most wonderful way, and carried her
off to bed." The professor mops his brow.

"Oh, well, _that's_ all right," says Hardinge. "Sit down, old chap,
and let's talk it over."

"It is _not_ all right," says the professor. "It is all wrong. Here
she is, and here she apparently means to stay. The poor child
doesn't understand. She thinks I'm older than Methusaleh, and that
she can live here with me. I can't explain it to her--you--don't