One stipulation alone she makes, that she may see the young heiress before finally committing herself to chaperone her safely through the remainder of the season.
The professor, filled with hope, hies back to his rooms, calls for Mrs.Mulcahy, tells her he is going to take his ward out for a drive, and gives that worthy and now intensely interested landlady full directions to see that Miss Wynter looks--"er--nice! you know, Mrs.Mulcahy, her _best_ suit, and----" Mrs.Mulcahy came generously to the rescue.
"Her best frock, sir, I suppose, an' her Sunday bonnet.

I've often wished it before, Mr.Curzon, an' I'm thinkin' that 'twill be the makin' of ye; an' a handsome, purty little crathur she is an' no mistake.

An' who is to give away the poor dear, sir, askin' yer pardon ?" "I am," says the professor.
"Oh no, sir; the likes was never known.

'Tis the father or one of his belongings as gives away the bride, _niver_ the husband to be, an' if ye _have_ nobody, sir, you two, why I'm sure I'd be proud to act for ye in this matther.

Faix I don't disguise from ye, Misther Curzon, dear, that I feels like a mother to that purty child this moment, an' I tell ye _this,_ that if ye don't behave dacent to her, ye'll have to answer to Mrs.Mulcahy for that same." "What d'ye mean, woman ?" roars the professor, indignantly.