Instead of that, he pulls himself together, and determines on immediate action. To call upon this ward of his is a thing that must be done sooner of later, then why not sooner? Why not at once? The more unpleasant the duty, the more necessity to get it off one's mind without delay. He pulls the bell. The landlady appears again. "I must go out," says the professor, staring a little helplessly at her. "An' a good thing too," says she. "A saint's day ye might call it, wid the sun. An' where to, sir, dear? Not to thim rascally sthudents, I do thrust?" "No, Mrs. Mulcahy. I--I am going to see a young lady," says the professor simply. "The divil!" says Mrs. Mulcahy with a beaming smile. "Faix, that's a turn the right way anyhow. But have ye thought o' yer clothes, me dear?" "Clothes?" repeats the professor vaguely. "Arrah, wait," says she, and runs away lightly, in spite of her fifty years and her too, too solid flesh, and presently returns with the professor's best coat and a clothes brush that, from its appearance, might reasonably be supposed to have been left behind by Noah when he stepped out of the Ark. With this latter (having put the coat on him) she proceeds to belabor the professor with great spirit, and presently sends him forth shining--if not _in_ternally, at all events _ex_ternally. In truth the professor's mood is not a happy one. Sitting in the hansom that is taking him all too swiftly to his destination, he dwells with terror on the girl--the undesired ward--who has been thrust upon him. He has quite made up his mind about her. An Australian girl! One knows what to expect _there!_ Health unlimited; strength tremendous; and noise--_much_ noise. Yes, she is sure to be a _big_ girl. A girl with branching limbs, and a laugh you could hear a mile off. A young woman with no sense of the fitness of things, and a settled conviction that nothing could shake, that "'Strailia" is _the_ finest country on earth! A bouncing creature who _never_ sits down; to whom rest or calm is unknown, and whose highest ambition will be to see the Tower and the wax-works. Her hair is sure to be untidy; hanging probably in straight, black locks over her forehead, and her frock will look as if it had been pitchforked on to her, and requires only the insubordination of _one_ pin to leave her without it again. The professor is looking pale, but has on him all the air of one prepared for _anything_ as the maid shows him in the drawing-room of the house where Miss Jane Majendie lives. His thoughts are still full her niece. _Her_ niece, poor woman, and _his_ ward--poor _man!_ when the door opens and _some one_ comes in. _Some one!_ The professor gets slowly on to his feet, and stares at the advancing apparition. Is it child or woman, this fair vision? A hard question to answer! It is quite easy to read, however, that "some one" is very lovely! "It is you, Mr. Curzon, is it not?" says the vision.