It was an undramatic narrative and yet as it fell from her lips Barnes listened with keen absorption. Or was it merely to the melody of her voice? After she had ceased, he found himself still listening.
“May I serve you to more tea?” interrupted Aunt Philomela.
Barnes thoughtfully stirred the thick syrup in his cup.
“I think not, thank you,” he answered.
“So you see,” added Miss Van Patten, “there is not very much for you to learn.”
“No,” he smiled, “I’m not so black as I was painted. But there are still some other things I must post myself on. I would like—”
“I positively refuse to surrender my private papers,” objected Aunt Philomela.
“An atlas,” Barnes finished.
“An atlas!” gasped Aunt Philomela, taken by surprise.
“An atlas. I must study my geography. The most I know of Alaska at present is that it’s the home of polar bears. Are you familiar with the habits of polar bears, Aunt Philomela?”