“There is no room!” says the professor.  This is the literal truth.  “The house is full.  And—­and there are only men here.”

“So much the better!” says Perpetua, with a little frown and a great deal of meaning.  “I’m tired of women—­they’re horrid.  You’re always kind to me—­at least,” with a glance, “you always used to be, and you’re a man!  Tell one of your servants to make me up a room somewhere.”

“There isn’t one,” says the professor.

“Oh! nonsense,” says she, leaning back in her chair and yawning softly.  “I’m not so big that you can’t put me away somewhere. That woman says I’m so small that I’ll never be a grown-up girl, because I can’t grow up any more.  Who’d live with a woman like that?  And I shall grow more, isn’t it?”

“I daresay,” says the professor vaguely.  “But that is not the question to be considered now.  I must beg you to understand, Perpetua, that your staying here is out of the question!”

“Out of the——­ Oh!  I see," cries she, springing to her feet and turning a passionately reproachful face on his.  “You mean that I shall be in your way here!”

“No, no, NO!” cries he, just as impulsively, and decidedly very foolishly; but the sight of her small mortified face has proved too much for him, “Only——­”

“Only?” echoes the spoiled child, with a loving smile—­the child who has been accustomed to have all things and all people give way to her during her short life.  “Only you are afraid I shall not be comfortable.  But I shall.  And I shall be a great comfort to you too—­a great help. I shall keep everything in order for you.  Do you remember the talk we had that last day you came to Aunt Jane’s?  How I told you of the happy days we should have together, if we were together.  Well, we are together now, aren’t we?  And when I’m twenty-one, we’ll move into a big, big house, and ask people to dances and dinners and things.  In the meantime——­” she pauses and glances leisurely around her.  The glance is very comprehensive.  “To-morrow,” says she with decision, “I shall settle this room!”

The professor’s breath fails him.  He grows pale.  To “settle” his room!

“Perpetua!” exclaims he, almost inarticulately, “you don’t understand.”

“I do indeed,” returns she brightly.  “I’ve often settled papa’s den.  What! do you think me only a silly useless creature?  You shall see!  I’ll settle you too, by and by.”  She smiles at him gaily, with the most charming innocence, but oh! what awful probabilities lie within her words. Settle him!

“Do you know I’ve heard people talking about you at Mrs. Constans’,” says she.  She smiles and nods at him.  The professor groans.  To be talked about!  To be discussed!  To be held up to vulgar comment!  He writhes inwardly.  The thought is actual torture to him.

“They said——­”

"What?" demands the professor, almost fiercely.  How dare a feeble feminine audience appreciate or condemn his honest efforts to enlighten his small section of mankind!