"I can't just blurt out that I think he's a nuisance," she mourned to
Fairy. "Oh, if he'd just do something disgusting so I could fire him
off,--Pop! Just like that. Wouldn't it be glorious?"

But the professor did not indulge in disgusting things, and Prudence
continued to worry and fret. Then came a blessed evening when the
minister and Fairy were away from home, and the twins and Connie were
safely in their beds. Professor Rayburn sat with Prudence in the cozy
living-room, and Prudence was charming, though quiet, and the professor
was only human. Prudence had made tea, and as she rose to relieve him
of his empty cup, he also rose to return it to the table. Laughing,
they put it down on the tray, each holding one side of the saucer.
Then when it was safely disposed of, Prudence turned toward him, still
laughing at the silliness of it,--very alluring, very winsome. And Mr.
Rayburn, unexpectedly to himself as to her, put his arms around her and
kissed her. He was aghast at himself, once it was over, and
Prudence,--well, let us say frankly that Prudence was only relieved,
for it came to her in a flash that this was the "disgusting thing" for
which she had so fervently longed.

"Mr. Rayburn!"

"That was very stupid and unpardonable of me, Prudence," he said
quickly, "I really did not think what I was doing. But you were so
sweet, and--I'm awfully fond of you, Prudence, you know that."

Prudence looked at him thoughtfully. She felt that this hardly gave
her the desired opening. So she waited, hoping he would commit himself
further. More humbled by her unnatural silence, he did go on.