The charming face so near the professor's is looking sad again.

The white brow is puckered, the soft lips droop.

No, she cannot stay _here,_ that is certain--and yet it was her father's wish, and who is he, the professor, that he should pretend to know how girls should be treated?
What if he should make a mistake?
And yet again, should a little brilliant face like that know sadness?
It is a problem difficult to solve.

All the professor's learning fails him now.
"I hope she will remember.

Oh! she _must,_" declares he, gazing at Perpetua.