"Oh, Miss Morris," cried the delighted Bartlett, "don't mention it! It's nothing; I am quite amphibious, you know."
"You might be now in a place of shelter but for me," she answered, penitently.
"I'd rather be here than any where else!" he exclaimed, in a burst of candor which quite overleaped the barrier of self-possession and came down on the other side. "If you would allow me to be your friend, Miss Morris—if you would permit me to—to speak with you now and then; if—if—" Here he paused, not knowing precisely what more to say, yet feeling that he had already said enough to make his meaning clear.
Bertha was cruelly embarrassed, but only for a moment. Professor Hurlbut had at least been frank and honest in his avowal—she felt his sincerity through and through—and he deserved equal honesty at her hands.
"I am your debtor," said she, in an uncertain voice; "and you have a right to expect gratitude, at least, from me. I can not, therefore, refuse your acquaintance, though, as you know, your—your occupation would be considered objectionable by many persons."
"My occupation!"
"Your profession, then. I must candidly confess that I have a prejudice—a foolish one, perhaps, against it."
"My profession!" cried the astonished Bartlett; "why, I have none!"
"Well—it is scarcely to be called a 'profession,' but it is always liable to the charge of charlatanism: pardon me the word. And it may be ridiculed in so many ways. I wish, for your sake—for I believe you to be capable of better things—that you would adopt some other business."
Mr. Bartlett's amazement was now beyond all bounds, "Good Heavens!" he exclaimed, "Miss Morris, what do you mean?"