He did not hear her approach. She came and stood beside him.
“Mr. Bangs,” she said.
Then he looked up, saw her, and scrambled to his feet.
“Why—why, Miss Martha!” he exclaimed. “I did not see you—ah—hear you, I mean. What is it? Is anything wrong?”
She nodded. She found it very hard to speak and, when she did do so, her voice was shaky.
“Yes,” she said, “there is. Somethin' very wrong. Why did you telegraph the Institute folks that you wouldn't accept their offer?... Oh, I found it out. Ras Beebe couldn't get one word in your message and he read it to me over the 'phone. But that doesn't matter. That doesn't count. Why did you refuse, Mr. Bangs?”
He put his hand to his forehead. “I—I am sorry if it troubled you,” he said. “I didn't mean for you to know it—ah—yet. I refused because—well, because I did not care to accept. The—the whole thing did not appeal to me, somehow. I have lost interest in it—ah—quite. Dear me, yes—quite.”
“Lost interest! In Egypt? In such a wonderful chance as this gives you? Oh, you can't! You mustn't!”
He sighed and then smiled. “It does seem queer, doesn't it?” he admitted. “Yet it is quite true. I have lost interest. I don't seem to care even for Egypt. Now that is very odd.”
“But—but if you refuse this what WILL you do?”