Paralyzed, he gazes in the direction of the sound.

It _can't_ be Hardinge, he would never knock like that! The knock in itself, indeed, is of such force and volume as to strike terror into the bravest breast.

It is--it _must_ be--the Mulcahy! And Mrs.Mulcahy it is! Without waiting for an answer, that virtuous Irishwoman, clad in righteous indignation and a snuff-colored gown, marches into the room.
"May I ask, Mr.Curzon," says she, with great dignity and more temper, "what may be the meanin' of all this ?" The professor's tongue cleaves to the roof of his mouth, but Perpetua's tongue remains normal.

She jumps up, and runs to Mrs.Mulcahy with a beaming face.

She has had something to eat, and is once again her own buoyant, wayward, light-hearted little self.
"Oh! it is all right _now_, Mrs.Mulcahy," cries she, whilst the professor grows cold with horror at this audacious advance upon the militant Mulcahy.