As for the professor, he grows red--he draws his brows together.

Truly this is a most impertinent pupil! 'The Master of Ballantrae.' It _sounds_ like Sir Walter, and yet--The professor hesitates and is lost.
"Scott," says he, with as good an air as he can command.
"Wrong," cries she, clapping her hands softly, noiselessly.

"Oh! you _ignorant_ man! Go buy that book at once.

It will do you more good and teach you a great deal more than any of your musty tomes." She laughs gaily.

It occurs to the professor, in a misty sort of way, that her laugh, at all events, would do _anyone_ good.
She has been pulling a ring on and off her finger unconsciously, as if thinking, but now looks up at him.
"If you spoke to her again, when she was in a better temper, don't you think she would let you take me to the theatre some night ?" She has come nearer, and has laid a light, appealing little hand upon his arm.
"I am sure it would be useless," says he, taking off his glasses and putting them on again in an anxious fashion.