Who _is_ Curzon?
Given a better tailor, and a worse brain, he might be a reasonable-looking fellow enough, and not so old either--forty, perhaps--perhaps less.

"Have you no relation to whom you could send her ?" he says at length, that sudden curiosity as to who Curzon may be prompting the question.

"Some old lady?
An aunt, for example ?" "She doesn't seem to like aunts" says the professor, with deep dejection.
"Small blame to her," says, Hardinge, smoking vigorously.

"_I've_ an aunt--but 'that's another story!' Well--haven't you a cousin then ?--or something ?" "I have a sister," says the professor slowly.
"Married ?" "A widow." ("Fusty old person, out somewhere in the wilds of Finchley," says Hardinge to himself.

"Poor little girl--she won't fancy that either!") "Why not send her to your sister then ?" says he aloud.
"I'm not sure that she would like to have her," says the professor, with hesitation.