think _you_ could, do you, Hardinge?"

"No, I don't, indeed," says Hardinge, in a hurry. "What on earth has
brought her here at all?"

"To _stay._ Haven't I told you? To stay for ever. She says"--with a
groan--"she is going to settle me! To--to _brush my hair!_ To--make
my tea. She says I'm her guardian, and insists on living with me.
She doesn't understand! Hardinge," desperately, "what _am_ I to do?"

"Marry her!" suggests Hardinge, who, I regret to say is choking with
laughter.

"That is a _jest!"_ says the professor haughtily. This unusual tone
from the professor strikes surprise to the soul of Hardinge. He
looks at him. But the professor's new humor is short-lived. He sinks
upon a chair in a tired sort of way, letting his arms fall over the
sides of it. As a type of utter despair he is a distinguished
specimen.

"Why don't you take her home again, back to the old aunt?" says
Hardinge, moved by his misery.

"I can't. She tells me it would be useless, that the house is locked
up, and--and besides, Hardinge, her aunt--after _this,_ you know--
would be----"

"Naturally," says Hardinge, after which he falls back upon his
cigar. "Light your pipe," says he, "and we'll think it over." The
professor lights it, and both men draw nearer to each other.