He seems, indeed, so entirely unimpressed by Hardinge's last remark, that it may reasonably be supposed he hasn't heard a word of it.
"And she ?" says he.

"Perpetua.

Does she----" He hesitates as if finding it impossible to go on.
"Oh! I don't know," says the younger man, with a rather rueful smile.
"Sometimes I think she doesn't care for me more than she does for the veriest stranger amongst her acquaintances, and sometimes----" expressive pause.
"Yes?
Sometimes ?" "She has seemed kind." "Kind?
How kind ?" "Well--friendly.

More friendly than she is to others.

Last night she let me sit out three waltzes with her, and, she only sat out one with your brother." "Is it ?" asks the professor, in a dull, monotonous sort of way.