"No. I am staying temporarily at the home of my employer, but I have my mail sent to my permanent address."
"I see. You are not a native of the city, then? Your home is not here?"
What did this continued catechism portend? In so far as the translating provided an excuse for this insistent young man's questions she would reply, but her personal affairs and former life were surely no concern of a museum director.
"No, my home is not here." She paused deliberately. "Perhaps, if this translation proves satisfactory and you have other work for me, Mr. Ross, you will mail it. I will arrange to have it forwarded—"
She got no farther for the door was suddenly flung wide and a shrivelled grey little man precipitated himself into the room. With bent shoulders and head thrust forward, he peered eagerly at the younger man through thick tortoise-shell glasses and demanded in a high voice crackling with nervous excitement:
"Ross, who is she? The young woman you said had undertaken this translation for you? I must see her—"
"She is here." The young man rose. "Miss Shaw, allow me to present Professor Carmody."
The girl bowed distantly, but the little professor advanced to her with outstretched hands.
"My dear young lady, I want to congratulate—" He stopped abruptly, amazement and a dawning recognition in his eyes. "It can't be—is it possible——?"
"You find my translation satisfactory then, Professor Carmody?" Betty darted a swift glance at him, and then turned her head sharply as if to gaze from the window. This move presented her profile to the nearsighted eyes bent upon her, and brought the birthmark out with cruel distinctness upon her cheek.