Nevertheless, he had minded that awful old woman himself very considerably.
"But—it is soon, isn't it?" says she. "I know that myself, and yet—" wistfully—"I can't help it. I do want to see things, and to amuse myself."
"Naturally," says the professor.
"And it isn't that I forget him," says she in an eager, intense tone, "I never forget him—never—never. Only I do want to laugh sometimes and to be happy, and to see Mr. Irving as Charles I."
The climax is irresistible. The professor is unable to suppress a smile.
"I'm afraid, from what I have heard, that won't make you laugh," says he.
"It will make me cry then. It is all the same," declares she, impartially. "I shall be enjoying myself, I shall be seeing things. You—" doubtfully, and mindful of his last speech—"Haven't you seen him?"
"Not for a long time, I regret to say. I—I'm always so busy," says the professor apologetically.
"Always studying?" questions she.
"For the most part," returns the professor, an odd sensation growing within him that he is feeling ashamed of himself.