"You know I would do what I could for you, but your aunt--you heard her--she would not let you go anywhere with me." "True," says Perpetua.

Here she moves back, and folds her arms stiffly across her bosom, and pokes out her chin, in an aggressive fashion, that creates a likeness on the spot, in spite of the youthful eyes, and brow, and hair.

"'Young _gentle_women in _our_ time, Mr.Curzon, never went out walking, _alone,_ with _A Man!'"_ The mimicry is perfect.

The professor, after a faint struggle with his dignity, joins in her naughty mirth, and both laugh together.
_"'Our'_ time! she thinks you are a hundred and fifty!" says Miss Wynter.
"Well, so I am, in a way," returns the professor, somewhat sadly.
"No, you're not," says she.

_"I_ know better than that, I" patting his arm reassuringly, "can guess your age better than she can.