Professor Carmody halted, stammering, and the look of expectancy died from his weazened face.
"I beg your pardon. I fancied for a moment that I had met you before. I intruded just now, Miss—Miss—"
"Betty Shaw." The girl prompted him steadily.
"Miss Shaw, I wanted to tell you that your work is admirable! The translation is masterly and I doubt if even my friend Professor Mallory himself could have improved upon it. You have kept to the text with extraordinary fidelity, and retained the spirit as well as the letter to a marked degree!"
"Thank you." In spite of herself Betty flushed at the fervent praise, but she kept her face averted. "The work was intensely interesting, but I feared I had forgotten a great deal."
"Miss Shaw studied with an associate of Professor Mallory," Ross remarked.
"Really. I should have believed her to have been a pupil of the great man himself." Professor Carmody's eyes still glistened with enthusiasm. "I shall be happy to show you several original papyri of profound interest, if you will call some morning, my dear Miss Shaw. In this intensely modern age, it is a genuine pleasure to encounter a young person who appreciates the wisdom and greatness of the past."
He bowed and had turned to the door when Herbert Ross stopped him with a reminder.
"You, er—you have the check, Professor?"
"Bless me, of course!" The little man fumbled in his pocket for a moment, then drew out a narrow slip of paper which he laid upon the desk. "There are one or two inscriptions from tombs of the eleventh dynasty, I believe, which have been awaiting translation. You will find them in that drawer, there. Good afternoon, Miss Shaw."