"I am not given to dreams," says she, with a petulant shrug_. "I_ know what I mean always. And as I tell you, if you _have_ come here to-day to lay before me, for my consideration, the name of another of your friends who wishes to marry me, why I beg you to save me from suitors. I can make my choice from many, and when I _do_ want to marry, I shall choose for myself."
"Still--if you would permit me to name _this_ one," begins Curzon, very humbly, "it can do you no harm to hear of him. And it all lies in your own power. You can, if you will, say yes, or----". He pauses. The pause is eloquent, and full of deep entreaty.
"Or no," supplies she calmly. "True! You," with a half defiant, half saucy glance, "are beginning to learn that a guardian cannot control one altogether."
"I don't think I ever controlled you, Perpetua."
"N--o! Perhaps not. But then you tried to. That's worse."
"Do you forbid me then to lay before you--this name--that I----?"
"I have told you," says she, "that I can find a name for myself."
"You forbid me to speak," says he slowly.
_"I_ forbid! A ward forbid her guardian! I should be afraid!" says she, with an extremely naughty little glance at him.
"You trifle with me," says the professor slowly, a little sternly, and with uncontrolled despair. "I thought--I believed--I was _mad _enough to imagine, from your manner to me that last night we met, that I was something more than a mere guardian to you."
"More than _that._ That seems to be a Herculean relation. What more would you be?"
"What!" cries she, flushing deeply. "You--you give me up----"
"You say you will no longer be my guardian!" She seems struck with amazement at this declaration on his part. She had not believed him when he had before spoken of his intention of resigning. "But you cannot," says she. "You have promised. Papa _said_ you were to take care of me."
"He _did._ He said you were the one man in all the world he could trust."
"Impossible," says the professor. "A--lover--cannot be a guardian!" His voice has sunk to a whisper. He turns away, and makes a step towards the door.
"You are going," cries she, fighting with a desperate desire for tears, that is still strongly allied to anger. "You would leave me. You will be no longer my guardian. Ah! was I not right? Did I not _tell_ you you were in a hurry to get rid of me?"