“I beg your pardon,” he boggled. “I thought you were alone. I’ll——”
But Olga had seen the Professor, and her one thought was to get at him. With shining eyes, she thrust by her husband and rushed forward, hands outstretched.
As she passed, Bristow realized the situation.
“Olga!” he cried sharply. “Olga!”
The tones reached the girl’s inner consciousness and she stopped, hesitating.
Before she could recover, Bristow passed her and grasped the Professor’s hand. “I’m delighted to see you safe again, Professor,” he declared. “Mrs. Bristow and I had about given you up. She felt very strongly about your fate.... Olga! Shake hands with Professor Shishkin.”
The Professor had managed to keep his self-possession. Though Olga’s presence was a surprise she was not to him as one returned from the dead, as he was to her. Mingled with his surprise was a feeling of enormous relief. Olga seemed to have appeared in direct answer to his prayers, to enable him to submit to her the question of her future. The need for caution still remained, however, and controlled him.
Quietly he and Olga pressed each other’s hands, putting off to the future the more intimate welcoming that would come. Bristow drew a long breath of relief as he saw them. It did not occur to him to look at Florence; in fact, for the moment he had forgotten her.
Demidroff relieved the situation. So sure of the facts and so full of his approaching triumph was he, that he was less observant than usual and saw nothing suspicious in the greeting. Nor did it occur to him to look at Florence, not dreaming that the meeting of the Professor and Mrs. Bristow could be of interest to her.
Eagerly he pressed on with his program. “I’m glad to see you, Mr. Bristow,” he proclaimed. “You are the man above all others I would have hoped for. Through the Consolidated Press, you can lay before the world the amazing tale I have to tell.”