He must always have been older than the gay, handsome, _debonnaire_ father, who had been so dear to her.
"What are you going to tell me about him ?" asks the professor gently.
"Only what he used to call me--_Doatie_! I suppose," wistfully, "you couldn't call me that ?" "I am afraid not," says the professor, coloring even deeper.
"I'm sorry," says she, her young mouth taking a sorrowful curve.

"But don't call me Miss Wynter, at all events, or 'my dear.' I do so want someone to call me by my Christian name," says the poor child sadly.
"Perpetua--is it not ?" says the professor, ever so kindly.
"No--'Pet,'" corrects she.

"It's shorter, you know, and far easier to say." "Oh!" says the professor.

To him it seems very difficult to say.

Is it possible she is going to ask him to call her by that familiar--almost affectionate--name?
The girl must be mad.
"Yes--much easier," says Perpetua; "you will find that out, after a bit, when you have got used to calling me by it.