"I thought of that, too. I got her to write it in the presence of the manager of the Carlton Hotel and deposit it with him. You can ask him to show it to you."
He raised his brows slightly, seeming to admit, though with a bad grace, that she might not be as much of a fool as he first thought her. She suspected that his opinion of women was low.
"I see. Of course it won't tell me what I chiefly want to know, but I'll look it up. What I must have," and he brought his hand down weightily on the table, "is accuracy. Accuracy and precision … you see, I shall want you sometimes to help me in the laboratory."
"I thought you were a scientist!"
He looked at her with a flicker of interest.
"Oh? Why did you think that?"
She felt confused.
"I'm not quite sure. Something about you suggests a scientist. I worked one summer with a Rockefeller Institute man who was doing research. Perhaps that's why."
"Who was he?"
"Dr. Blumenfeld. He was working on infantile paralysis."