"Why not? Am I not an interesting subject for speculation? Mr.
Bomford, you told me only a few days ago, is a scientist, an
Egyptologist, a philosopher. Why should he not be interested in the
same things which interest your father?"
"It is quite true," she admitted. "I had not thought of that."
"At the present moment," Burton continued, moving a little on one side, "they are probably in the dining-room drinking Hock and seltzer, and your father is explaining to your fiancé the phenomenon of my experiences. I wonder whether he will believe them?"
"Mr. Bomford," she said, "will believe anything that my father tells him."
"Are you very much in love?" Burton asked, irrelevantly.
"You ask such absurd questions," she replied. "Nowadays, one is never in love."
"How little you know of what goes on nowadays!" he sighed. "What about myself? Do I need to tell you that I am hopelessly in love with you?"
"You," she declared, "are a phenomenon. You do not count."
The professor and his guest came through the French window, arm in arm, talking earnestly.
"Look at them!" Burton groaned. "They are talking about me—I can tell it by their furtive manner. Mr. Bomford has heard the whole story. He is a little incredulous but he wishes to be polite to his future father-in-law. What a pity that I could not have a relapse while he is here!"