"What have you got? Can't you let me
into the secret? I just think you might introduce me to the fairy
godmother."
If I were to tell any one, it would be Kitty, of course. Such a dear
little red-headed angel she would make! But it would not be fair to Prof.
Darmstetter. He is not ready yet. So I can only sham ignorance and joke
with her about milk baths and cold cream and rain water. Now that she has
reached the stage of fright, I have great fun with her.
"The age of miracles has come again," she says a hundred times a day. "I
can't believe my eyes! How is it that you are growing so beautiful? Is it
witchcraft?"
"Am I better looking?" I inquire languidly. "Well, I'm glad of it. I had
an aunt who was well-favoured when she was young; it's high time I took
after her, if I'm ever going to."
"No living aunt ever looked as you do now," Kitty will mutter, shaking her
head. "I don't know what to think. I'm half afraid of you."
To tell the truth, she's more than half afraid of me, and I delight in
mystifying her all I can.
But the strangest thing of all, the most ridiculous thing, considering his
age, the oddest thing when one remembers that he himself is its creator--
Professor Darmstetter is half in love with the beauty he has made; he
would be, if he might, the gray and withered Pygmalion of my Galatea!
CHAPTER VII.
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