"To be earnest! One _should_ be earnest." "Should one ?" Sir Hastings looks delighted expectation.

"Tell me about it," says he.
"There is nothing to tell," says Perpetua, a little petulantly perhaps.
This tall, thin man! what a _bore_ he is! And yet, the other--Mr.
Hardinge--well _he_ was worse; he was a _fool_, anyway; he didn't understand the professor one bit! "I like Mr.Hardinge," says she suddenly.
"Happy Hardinge! But little girls like you are good to everyone, are you not?
That is what makes you so lovely.

You could be good to even a scapegrace, eh?
A poor, sad outcast like me ?" He laughs and leans towards her, his handsome, dissipated, abominable face close to hers.
Involuntarily she recoils.
"I hope everyone is good to you," says she.

"Why should they not be?
And why do you call yourself an outcast?
Only bad people are outcasts.

And bad people," slowly, "are not known, are they ?" "Certainly not," says he, disconcerted.