“Well, I think I've got the answer, more or less correctly. Of course it's only an approximate result, as we say in engineering. But the different items check up with some degree of consistency.
“And I'm safe in believing I'm within at least a hundred years of the date one way or the other. Not a bad factor of safety, that, with my limited means of working.”
The girl's eyes widened. From her hand fell the empty gold cup; it rolled away across the clean-swept floor.
“What?” cried she. “You've got it, within a hundred years! Why, then--you mean it's more than a hundred?”
Indulgently the engineer smiled.
“Come, now,” he coaxed. “Just guess, for instance, how old you really are--and growing younger every day?”
“Two hundred maybe? Oh surely not as old as that! It's horrible to think of!”
“Listen,” bade he. “If I count your twenty-four years, when you went to sleep, you're now--”
“What?”
“You're now at the very minimum calculation, just about one thousand and twenty-four! Some age, that, eh?”