He smiled again. “I don't know,” he said. “I don't seem to care. But it is quite all right, Miss Martha. Really it is. I—I wouldn't have you think—Oh, dear, no!”
“But what WILL you do? Tell me.”
“I don't know. No doubt I shall do something. One has to do that, I suppose. It is only that—” Then, as a new thought came to him, he turned to her in alarm. “Oh, of course,” he cried, hastily, “I sha'n't remain here. Please don't think I intend imposing upon you longer. I shall go—ah—at once—to-morrow—ah almost immediately. You have been extremely kind and long-suffering already and—and—”
She interrupted. “Don't!” she said, hurriedly. “Don't! Mr. Bangs, have you truly made up your mind not to go to Egypt with that expedition? Won't you PLEASE do it, if I beg you to?”
He slowly shook his head.
“It is like you,” he said, “to take such an interest, but, if—if you don't mind, I had rather not. I can't. Really, I—ah—can't. It—Well, the thought of it—ah—repels me. Please don't ask me, Miss Martha, because—I can't.”
She hesitated. Then she said, “Would you go if I went with you?”
He had been looking, not at her, but at the sea. Now he slowly turned.
“Why—why—” he stammered. “Why, Miss—Oh, dear me, you don't—you can't mean—”
She shook her head. “I suppose I mean anything,” she said, “anything that will stop you from throwin' away your life work.”