"O papa!" exclaimed his daughter, deprecatingly; for the old gentleman
had spoken rather in a tone of reproof. "I'm sure she's as kind and good
as she can be; I was only telling what I especially remembered about
her, you know. How did she come to think of us after so long?"

"I used to know her quite well, long before you were born, my dear,"
replied the professor, tapping with his fingers on the arm of the chair;
"and at that time I should not have been surprised at her offering me
any kindness. I _am_ surprised now," he added, with a good deal of
feeling; "she's a better friend than I thought."

Cornelia remained silent for several moments, because, not in the least
comprehending what sort of ground her papa was walking on, she feared
that the questions and remarks she was anxious to advance might jar with
his mood. At length, a sufficient time having elapsed to warrant, in her
opinion, the introduction of intelligible topics, she looked up and
spoke again.

"How soon, papa--how soon did you say--am I to go?"

"First of July, Aunt Margaret says. Will that give you time enough to
make yourself fine?"

"Now, papa, you're making fun of me," exclaimed the young lady,
delighted that he should be in the humor to do so, yet speaking in that
semi-reproachful tone which ladies sometimes adopt when the other sex
makes their costume the object of remark, "I can make myself as fine as
I can be by that time, of course! But how is it about Sophie? Won't she
be able to go too?"