"It is about her ?" "Your ward?
Yes.

Your brother it seems has made up his mind to bestow upon her his hand, his few remaining acres, and," with a sneer, "his spotless reputation." _"Hardinge!"_ cries the professor, springing to his feet as if shot.
He is evidently violently agitated.

His companion mistakes the nature of his excitement.
"Forgive me!" says he quickly.

"Of course _nothing_ can excuse my speaking of him like that--to you.

But I feel you ought to be told.
Miss Wynter is in your care, you are in a measure responsible for her future happiness--the happiness of her whole _life,_ Curzon--and if anything goes wrong with her----" The professor puts up his hand as if to check him.