She stops as if exhausted, surprised perhaps at her own daring, and there is silence for a moment, a _little_ moment, and then Miss Majendie looks at her. "'The gayest thing in all the world:' _and your father only four months dead_!" says she, slowly, remorselessly. All in a moment, as it were, the little crimson angry face grows white--white as death itself. The professor, shocked beyond words, stands staring, and marking the sad changes in it. Perpetua is trembling from head to foot. A frightened look has come into her beautiful eyes--her breath comes quickly. She is as a thing at bay--hopeless, horrified. Her lips part as if she would say something. But no words come. She casts one anguished glance at the professor, and rushes from the room. It was but a momentary glimpse into a heart, but it was terrible. The professor turns upon Miss Majendie in great wrath. "That was cruel--uncalled for!" says he, a strange feeling in his heart that he has not time to stop and analyze _then_. "How could you hurt her so? Poor child! Poor girl! She _loved_ him!" "Then let her show respect to his memory," says Miss Majendie vindictively. She is unmoved--undaunted. "She was not wanting in respect." His tone is hurried. This woman with the remorseless eye is too much for the gentle professor. "All she _does_ want is change, amusement. She is young. Youth must enjoy." "In moderation--and in proper ways," says Miss Majendie stonily. "In moderation," she repeats mechanically, almost unconsciously. And then suddenly her wrath gets the better of her, and she breaks out into a violent range. That one should dare to question _her_ actions! "Who are _you_?" demands she fiercely, "that you should presume to dictate right and wrong to _me_." "I am Miss Wynter's guardian," says the professor, who begins to see visions--and all the lower regions let loose at once. Could an original Fury look more horrible than this old woman, with her grey nodding head, and blind vindictive passion. He hears his voice faltering, and knows that he is edging towards the door. After all, what can the bravest man do with an angry old woman, except to get away from her as quickly as possible? And the professor, though brave enough in the usual ways, is not brave where women are concerned. "Guardian or no guardian, I will thank you to remember you are in _my_ house!" cries Miss Majendie, in a shrill tone that runs through the professor's head. "Certainly. Certainly," says he, confusedly, and then he slips out of the room, and having felt the door close behind him, runs tumultuously down the staircase. For years he has not gone down any staircase so swiftly. A vague, if unacknowledged, feeling that he is literally making his escape from a vital danger, is lending wings to his feet. Before him lies the hall-door, and that way safety lies, safety from that old gaunt, irate figure upstairs. He is not allowed to reach, however--just yet.