"But what makes you think he has?" queried the doctor, with very much the air of a small boy who is longing yet fearing to investigate the reason for the non-explosion of a firecracker.
"Because he said twice that I reminded him of some one, particularly with my hat on; and both times, afterward, he looked so romantic and solemn"—Betty's eyes began to twinkle—"that I thought maybe I was on the track of a real, live love-story, you see. But he hasn't said anything about it lately; so perhaps I was mistaken, after all. You see, really, he's quite like folks, now, since we've been working on the curios."
"And how are you getting along with those?"
"Very well, only it's slow, of course. There is such a mass of material, and so much to look up and study up besides. We're just getting it together and tabulating it now on temporary sheets. We shan't begin the real cataloguing on the final cards until we have all our material in hand, Mr. Denby says."
"But you aren't getting tired of it?"
"Not a bit! I love it—even the digging after dates. I'm sure you can understand that," she smiled.
"Yes, I can understand that," he smiled back at her. And now, for the first time for long minutes, he dared to look across the room into Helen Denby's eyes.