She was wearing the beaver when she next met him, and she beamed with smiles as she called his attention to it.  He looked at her more seeingly than he had yet done, and a feeling like a very slight electric shock penetrated his brain.

“See!” she cried gayly.  “It is becoming, isn’t it?”

“It is, indeed,” he answered cordially.  “And I should think it would be quite—­quite warm,—­there is so much of it, and it looks so soft.”

“I told Miss Eldridge you advised me to get it,” continued she triumphantly, “and she didn’t say another word.”

The professor was aghast.  He felt a warm wave stealing over his face.  This must be stopped, and at once.  Fancy his class, his brother professors, getting hold of such a rare bit of gossip!  But he would not hurt her feelings.  She was so young, so innocent, and her frank blue eyes were so like those of his dead friend.

“My child,” he said softly, “you honor me by your confidence; but may I—­might I ask you, when you seek my advice upon subjects—­ah—­not congruous to my age and profession, not to repeat the result of our conferences?  With thoughtless people it might in some slight measure be considered derogatory to my professional dignity.  Not that I think it so,” he hastily added.  “All that concerns you is of great, of heartfelt interest to me.”

“I didn’t tell anybody but Miss Eldridge,” said the culprit penitently; “and I know she won’t repeat it; and I’ll never do so any more, if you’ll let me come to you with my foolish little troubles.  It seems something like having papa again.”

Now, why this touching tribute should have irritated the professor who can say?  He was startled, shocked, at the irritation, and he strove to banish all trace of it from his voice and manner as he said, gravely and kindly, “Continue to come to me with your troubles, my dear, if I can afford you either help or comfort.”

A few days passed, and she waylaid him again.  Her pretty face was pale, and her soft yellow hair was pushed back from her forehead, showing the blue veins in her temples.

“I don’t know what I shall do,” she said, in a troubled voice.  “Those children have caught up with me in arithmetic, and by next week they’ll be ahead of me; and I feel as if I oughtn’t to take Miss Eldridge’s money if I can’t do all she engaged me for.  What would you do if you were me?”

“Could you not prepare yourself by study, and so keep in advance of your little pupils?” he inquired kindly.

“I don’t believe I could,” she replied despondently.  “I tried to do the sums that came next, last night, and they wouldn’t come right, all I could do; and I got a headache besides.”

“I have an hour to spare,” said the professor, pulling out his watch:  “perhaps, if you will bring me your book and slate, I can elucidate the rule which is perplexing you.”