"I really think," interrupts the professor hurriedly, who see breakers ahead, "if I were to take Perpetua for a walk--a drive--to--er--to some place or other--it might destroy this _ennui_ of which she complains. If you will allow her to come out with me for an hour or so, I----" "If you are waiting for _my_ sanction, Mr. Curzon, to that extraordinary proposal, you will wait some time," says Miss Majendie slowly, frigidly. She draws the shawl still closer, and sniffs again. "But----" "There is no 'But,' sir. The subject doesn't admit of argument. In my young days, and I should think"--scrutinising him exhaustively through her glasses--_"in yours_, it was not customary for a young _gentlewoman _to go out walking, alone, with _'a man'!!"_ If she had said with a famished tiger, she couldn't have thrown more horror into her tone. The professor had shrunk a little from that classing of her age with his, but has now found matter for hope in it. "Still--my age--as you suggest--so far exceeds Perpetua's--I am indeed so much older than she is, that I might be allowed to escort her wherever it may please her to go." "The _real_ age of a man nowadays, sir, is a thing impossible to know," says Miss Majendie. "You wear glasses--a capital disguise! I mean nothing offensive--_so far_--sir, but it behoves me to be careful, and behind those glasses, who can tell what demon lurks? Nay! No offence! An _innocent_ man would _feel_ no offence!" "Really, Miss Majendie!" begins the poor professor, who is as red as though he were the guiltiest soul alive. "Let me proceed, sir. We were talking of the ages of men." _"We?"_ "Certainly! It was you who suggested the idea that, being so much older than my niece, Miss Wynter, you could therefore escort her here and there--in fact _everywhere_--in fact"--with awful meaning--_"any_ where!" "I assure you, madam," begins the professor, springing to his feet--Perpetua puts out a white hand. "Ah! let her talk," says she. _"Then_ you will understand." "But men's ages, sir, are a snare and a delusion!" continues Miss Majendie, who has now mounted her hobby, and will ride it to the death. "Who can tell the age of any man in this degenerate age? We look at their faces, and say _he_ must be so and so, and _he_ a few years younger, but looks are vain, they tell us nothing. Some look old, because they _are_ old, some look old--through _vice!"_ The professor makes an impatient gesture. But Miss Majendie is equal to most things. "'Who excuses himself _accuses_ himself,'" quotes she with terrible readiness. "Why that gesture, Mr. Curzon? I made no mention of _your_ name. And indeed, I trust your age would place you outside of any such suspicion, still, I am bound to be careful where my niece's interests are concerned. You, as her guardian if a _faithful_ guardian" (with open doubt as to this, expressed in eye and pointed finger), "should be the first to applaud my caution."