hair----?" The Boy choked, and stopped short.

Miss Charteris considered, and replied with careful deliberation. "I
do not know that I have ever seen his mouth; he wears a beard. His
eyes are not strong, but they look very kind through his glasses. His
hair? Well, really, he has not much to speak of. But all these things
matter very little. His _mind_ is great and beautiful; his thoughts
appeal to me. I understand his way of viewing things: he understands
mine. It would be a wonderful privilege to be able to make life easy
and happy for one for whom I have so profound a respect and esteem. I
have looked upon it, during the last few years, as a privilege which
is, eventually, to be mine."

"Christobel," cried the Boy, "it is wrong, it is terrible! It is not
the highest. I can't stand it, and I won't. I will not let you give
yourself to a wizened old bookworm----"

"Be quiet, Boy," she said, sharply. "Do you wish to make me really
angry? The Professor is not old. He is only fourteen years my senior.
To your extreme youth, fifty may seem old. The Professor is in his
prime. I am afraid we have nothing to gain, Boy, by prolonging this
discussion."

"But we can't leave it at this," said the Boy, desperately. "Where do
I come in?"

"My Little Boy Blue, I am afraid you don't come in at all, excepting as
a very sweet idyll which, all through the years to come, I shall never
forget. You begged for your seven days, and I gave them. But I never
led you to assume I could say 'Yes.' Now listen, Boy, and I will tell
you the honest truth. I do not know that I am ever going to marry the
Professor. I only feel pledged to him from the vague belief that we
each consider the other is waiting. Don't break your heart over it,
Boy; because it is more than likely it will never come to pass.
But--even were there no Professor--oh, Boy dear, I could not marry you.
I love my Little Boy Blue more tenderly and deeply than I have ever
before loved anything or any one on this earth. But I could not marry
a boy, however dearly I loved him; however sweet was his love to me. I
am a woman grown, and I could surrender myself wholly, only to a man
who would wholly be my mate and master. I cannot pretend to call my
Little Boy Blue 'the _man_ I love,' because he is really dearest to me
when I think of him, with expectation in his baby-eyes, trotting down
the sands to find his cannon-ball.... Oh, Boy, I am hurting you! I
hat