"No small account." Here, as if noticing his silence, she looks quickly at him, and perhaps something in his face strikes her, because she goes on hurriedly.

"Oh! and what is age after all?
I wish _I_ were old, and then I should be able to get away from Aunt Jane--without--without any _trouble."_ "I am afraid you are indeed very unhappy here," says the professor gravely.
"I _hate_ the place," cries she with a frown.

"I shan't be able to stay here.

Oh! _why_ didn't poor papa send me to live with you ?" Why indeed?
That is exactly what the professor finds great difficulty in explaining to her.

An "old man" of "fifty" might very easily give a home to a young girl, without comment from the world.
But then if an "old man of fifty" _wasn't_ an old man of fifty---- The professor checks his thoughts, they are growing too mixed.
"We should have been _so_ happy," Perpetua is going on, her tone regretful.