_I_ think that too.

Not about your having a wife.

That doesn't matter, but I really think you ought to have a daughter to look after you." This extremely immoral advice she delivers with a beaming smile.
"_I'll_ be your daughter," says she.
The professor goes rigid with horror.

What has he _done_ that the Fates should so visit him?
"They said something else too," goes on Perpetua, this time rather angrily.

"They said you were so clever that you always looked unkempt.
That," thoughtfully, "means that you didn't brush your hair enough.
Never mind, _I'll_ brush it for you." "Look here!" says the professor furiously, subdued fury no doubt, but very genuine.