Evidently neither last night's party nor to-day's afternoon have had power to dim her beauty.

Sleep had visited _her_ last night, at all events.
She springs out of her chair, and throws her book on the table near her.
"Why, you are the very last person I expected," says she.
"No doubt," says the professor.

Who was the _first_ person she has expected?
And will Hardinge be here presently to plead his cause in person?
"But it was imperative I should come.

There is something I have to tell you--to lay before you." "Not a mummy, I trust," says she, a little flippantly.
"A proposal," says the professor, coldly.

"Much as I know you dislike the idea, still; it was your poor father's wish that I should, in a measure, regulate your life until your coming of age.