19/19 And I have no one but you--and poor papa said you would be good to me. But you are _sorry_ he made you my guardian. You would be glad if I were _dead_! When I come to you in my trouble you tell me to go away again, and though I tell you I am hungry, you won't give me even some bread and butter! Oh!" passionately, "if _you_ came to _me_ starving, I'd give _you_ things, but--you----" "_Stop!_" cries the professor. He uplifts his hands, and, as though in the act of tearing his hair, rushes from the room, and staggers downstairs to those other apartments where Hardinge had elected to sit, and see out the farce, comedy, or tragedy, whichever it may prove, to its bitter end. |