"And so--you really think----" she is looking very earnestly at him.
"I do, indeed.

Go out--go everywhere--enjoy yourself, child, while you can." He lifts his hat and walks away.
"Who was that, dear ?" asks Mrs.Constans, a pretty pale woman, rushing out of the shop and into the carriage.
"My guardian--Mr.Curzon." "Ah!" glancing carelessly after the professor's retreating figure.
"A youngish man ?" "No, old," says Perpetua, "at least, I think--do you know," laughing, "when he's _gone_ I sometimes think of him as being pretty young, but when he is _with_ me, he is old--old and grave!" "As a guardian should be, with such a pretty ward," says Mrs.
Constans, smiling.

"His back looks young, however." "And his laugh _sounds_ young." "Ah! he can laugh then ?" "Very seldom.

Too seldom.

But when he does, it is a nice laugh.