CHAPTER XIII.
"Through thick and thin, both over bank and bush, In hopes her to attain by hook or crook." "You will begin to think me a fixture," says Hardinge, with a somewhat embarrassed laugh, flinging himself into an armchair.
"You know you are always welcome," says the professor gently, if somewhat absently.
It is next morning, and he looks decidedly the worse for his sleeplessness.

His face seems really old, his eyes are sunk in his head.

The breakfast lying untouched upon the table tells its own tale.
"Dissipation doesn't agree with you," says Hardinge with a faint smile.
"No.

I shall give it up," returns Curzon, his laugh a trifle grim.
"I was never more surprised in my life than when I saw you at your sister's last evening.

I was relieved, too--sometimes it is necessary for a man to go out, and--and see how things are going on with his own eyes." "I wonder when that would be ?" asks the professor indifferently.
"When a man is a guardian," replies Hardinge promptly, and with evident meaning.
The professor glances quickly at him.
"You mean---- ?" says he.
"Oh! yes, of course I mean something," says Hardinge impatiently.
"But I don't suppose you want me to explain myself.