had realized the fact of his love for her, she might have been
touched and influenced by it, but as it is she feels only a sense of
anger towards him. Anger unplaced, undefined, yet nevertheless
intense.

"With pleasure," says she to Sir Hastings, smiling at him almost
across Hardinge's outstretched hand. The latter draws back.

"You dismiss me?" says he, with a careful smile. He bows to her--he
is gone.

"A well-meaning young man," says Sir Hastings, following Hardinge's
retreating figure with a delightfully lenient smile. "Good-looking
too; but earnest. Have you noticed it? Entirely well-bred, but just
a little earnest! _Such_ a mistake!"

"I don't think that," says Perpetua. "To be earnest! One _should_
be earnest."

"Should one?" Sir Hastings looks delighted expectation. "Tell me
about it," says he.

"There is nothing to tell," says Perpetua, a little petulantly
perhaps. This tall, thin man! what a _bore_ he is! And yet, the
other--Mr. Hardinge--well _he_ was worse; he was a _fool,_ anyway;
he didn't understand the professor one bit! "I like Mr. Hardinge,"
says she suddenly.

"Happy Hardinge! But little girls like you are good to everyone, are
you not? That is what makes you so lovely. You could be good to even