"Goodness! How can he? I thought the Mayflower was bad enough. But what does he do—collect things?"
"Yes, to some extent; he has a fine collection of Babylonian tablets, and—"
"Oh, I know—those funny little brown and yellow cakes like soap, all cut into with pointed little marks—what do you call it?—like your father has in his library!"
"The cuneiform writing? Yes. As I said, the doctor has a fine collection of tablets, and of some other things; but principally he studies and goes on trips. It was a trip to the Spanish grottoes that got him interested in the archæological business in the first place, and put him out of conceit with doctoring. He goes a lot now, sometimes independently, sometimes in the interest of some society. He does in a scientific way what dad and I have done for fun—traveling and collecting, I mean. Then, too, he has written a book or two which are really authoritative in their line. He's a great chap—the doctor is. Wait till you see him. I've told him about you, too."
"Then you told him—that is—he knows—about the marriage."
"Why, sure he does!" Burke's manner was a bit impatient. "What do you suppose, when he's coming here to-night? Now, mind, put on your prettiest frock and your sweetest smile. I want him to see why I married you," he challenged banteringly. "I want him to see what a treasure I've got. And say, dearie, do you suppose—could we have him to dinner, or something? Could you manage it? I wanted to ask him to-night; but of course I couldn't—without your knowing beforehand."
"Mercy, no, Burke!" shuddered the young housekeeper. "Don't you dare—when I don't know it."
"But if you do know it—" He paused hopefully.
"Why, y-yes, I guess so. Of course I could get things I was sure of, like potato salad and—"
Burke sat back in his chair.