I coloured as I said the words. Another girl would have laughed, but Augusta did not; it was not her way.
“You are very plain indeed,” she said calmly; “you have not one feature which could possibly, at any time, grow into a beautiful feature. But that doesn’t matter. You have privileges. Every evening you can look at the Professor and think how marvellous is his brain and how beautiful is his face. Oh, do you think there is any chance of my being able to get a ticket for the next meeting of the Royal Society? He is going to speak. I could listen to him; I could hang on his words.”
I made no answer; but I made a special resolution. It was quite impossible for me to be friends with Augusta Moore. She was looking at me at that moment, however, with great attention.
“I tell you what it is,” she said; “if you are inclined to be friends with me, you might now and then get me tickets for your father’s lectures. I mean, of course,” she added, colouring very much, “that is, when you do not want them yourself.”
“I never go to them,” I said fervently. “I would not go to them for all the world.”
“How queer of you!”
“I think I can promise to get you two tickets for the next meeting of the Royal Society,” I said, “if it will make you really happy. Father was busy over his lecture last night. It has gone to be typed this morning.”
“Oh, don’t!” said Augusta, with a shudder.
“Don’t what?”
“Make the thing so realistic. Leave it, I beseech of you, leave it in the clouds. Don’t show me the ropes, but get me the tickets. Do! I shall worship you. I will even think you beautiful if you can get me tickets for your father’s lectures.”