"Hardinge is a good man, and he loves you."
"If so, he is the only one on earth who does," cries the girl bitterly. She turns abruptly away, and struggles with herself for a moment, then looks back at him. "Well. I shall not marry him," says she.
"That is in your own hands," says the professor. "But I shall have something to say about the other proposal you speak of."
"Do you think I want to marry your brother?" says she. "I tell you no, no, no! A thousand times no! The very fact that he is your brother would prevent me. To be your ward is bad enough, to be your sister-in-law would be insufferable. For all the world I would not be more to you than I am now."
"It is a wise decision," says the professor icily. He feels smitten to his very heart's core. Had he ever dreamed of a nearer, dearer tie between them?—if so the dream is broken now.
"Decision?" stammers she.
"Not to marry my brother."
"Not to be more to you, you mean!"
"You don't know what you are saying," says the professor, driven beyond his self-control. "You are a mere child, a baby, you speak at random."
"What!" cries she, flashing round at him, "will you deny that I have been a trouble to you, that you would have been thankful had you never heard my name?"