"And let me tell you, Hardinge, that there are occasions when one's high spirits can degenerate into offensiveness and vulgarity!" He marches out of the room and upstairs, leaving Hardinge, let us hope, a pray to remorse.

It is true, at least of that young man, that he covers his face with his hands and sways from side to side, as if overcome by some secret emotion.

Grief--no-doubt.
Perpetua is graciously pleased to accept the frugal meal the professor brings her.

She even goes so far as to ask him to share it with her--which invitation he declines.

He is indeed sick at heart--not for himself--( the professor doesn't often think of himself)--but for her.
And where is she to sleep?
To turn her out now would be impossible! After all, it was a puerile trifling with the Inevitable, to shirk asking Mrs.Mulcahy for something to eat for his self-imposed guest--because the question of _Bed_ still to come! Mrs.Mulcahy, terrible as she undoubtedly can be, is yet the only woman in the house, and it is imperative that Perpetua should be given up to her protection.
Whilst the professor is writhing in spirit over this ungetoutable fact, he becomes aware of a resounding knock at his door.