But--er----It won't be respectable, I think.
I--I've heard things said about--er--things like that.

It's no good in _looking_ an old fogey, if you aren't one; it's no earthly use"-- standing before a glass and ruefully examining his countenance--"in looking fifty if you are only thirty-four.

It will be a scandal," says the professor mournfully.

"They'll _cut_ her, and they'll cut me, and--what the _deuce_ did Wynter mean by leaving me his daughter?
A real live girl of seventeen! It'll be the death of me," says the professor, mopping his brow.

"What"-- --wrathfully----"that determined spendthrift meant, by flinging his family on _my_ shoulders, I----Oh! _Poor_ old Wynter!" Here he grows remorseful again.