"As a guardian should be, with such a pretty ward," says Mrs.
Constans, smiling. "His back looks young, however."
"And his laugh sounds young."
"Ah! he can laugh then?"
"Very seldom. Too seldom. But when he does, it is a nice laugh. But he wears spectacles, you know—and—well—oh, yes, he is old, distinctly old!"
CHAPTER VI.
"He is happy whose circumstances suit his temper; but he is more excellent who can suit his temper to any circumstances."
"The idea of your having a ward! I could quite as soon imagine your having a wife," says Hardinge. He knocks the ash off his cigar, and after meditating for a moment, leans back in his chair and gives way to irrepressible mirth.
"I don't see why I shouldn't have a wife as well as another," says the professor, idly tapping his forefinger on the table near him. "She would bore me. But a great many fellows are bored."
"You have grasped one great truth if you never grasp another!" says
Mr. Hardinge, who has now recovered. "Catch me marrying."
"It's unlucky to talk like that," says the professor. "It looks as though your time were near. In Sophocles' time there was a man who——"