"It was I who was wrong," she said, presently. "Let us be friends. It is not that I do not like you,—really I believe it is not that. It is that, somehow, you do manage to—to tease me, I suppose." She blushed. "I am sure you do not mean it. It is very foolish of me, I know."
"If you could only tell me exactly where my fault lies," said Cutter, earnestly, "I am sure I would never commit it again. You do not seriously believe that I ever intend to annoy you?"
"N—no," hesitated Hermione. "No, you do not intend to annoy me, and yet I think it amuses you sometimes to see that I am angry about nothing."
"It does not amuse me," said Cutter. "My tongue gets the better of me, and then I am very sorry afterwards. Let us be friends, as you say. We have more serious things to think of than quarreling in our conversation. Say you forgive me, as freely as I say that it has been my fault."
There was something so natural and humble in the way the man spoke that Hermione had no choice but to put out her hand and agree to the truce. Professor Cutter was as old as her father, though he looked ten years younger, or more; he had a world-wide reputation in more than one branch of science; he was altogether what is called a celebrated man; and he stood before her asking to "make friends," as simply as a schoolboy. Hermione had no choice.
"Of course," she answered, and then added with a smile, "only you must really not tease me any more."
"I won't," said Cutter, emphatically.
They sat down again, side by side, and were silent for some moments. It seemed to Hermione as though she had made an important compact, and she did not feel altogether certain of the result. She could have laughed at the idea that her making up her differences with the professor was of any real importance in her life, but nevertheless she felt that it was so, and she was inclined to think over what she had done. Her hands lay folded upon her lap, and she idly gazed at them, and thought how small and white they looked upon the dark blue serge. Cutter spoke first.
"I suppose," he began, "that when we are not concerned with our own immediate affairs, we are all of us thinking of the same thing. Indeed, though we live very much as though nothing were the matter, we are constantly aware that one subject occupies us all alike."
To tell the truth, Hermione was not at that moment thinking of poor Madame Patoff. She raised her eyes with an inquiring glance.