Just so," says Mr.Hardinge pleasantly, and then, after a kindly survey of his companion's features, "She is rather a trouble to you, old man, isn't she ?" "She?
No," says the professor again, more quickly this time.

"It is only this--she doesn't seem to get on with the aunt to whom her poor father sent her--he is dead--and I have to look out for some one else to take care of her, until she comes of age." "I see.

I should think you would have to hurry up a bit," says Mr.
Hardinge, taking his cigar from his lips, and letting the smoke curl upwards slowly, thoughtfully.

"Impulsive people have a trick of being impatient--of acting for themselves----" "_She_ cannot," says the professor, with anxious haste.

"She knows nobody in town." "Nobody ?" "Except me, and a woman who is a friend of her aunt's.