I recognized the name as one I had often seen in the papers.
“Yes; I know your father well by repute. He lectures at the Royal Institution, does he not?”
“Yes; you have heard him?”
“I am ashamed to say no.”
“Don’t be ashamed. You may be a very creditable member of society and yet take no interest in old bones and old stones. Father is an authority on the flint age. A boy once broke his study window with a stone, and he was delighted. It was a paleolithic remainder. Nothing modern interests him in the very least. A knife and fork of to-day are to him an impertinence. Don’t you pity me?”
“Is the daughter of so celebrated a man to be pitied?”
“Ah, I suppose that’s what every one thinks. And I do so want to move on from this stupid place, and there’s no chance of it, because father has lighted on an interesting cleavage and suspects flint remains. Five o’clock! He shall not grub any longer.”
She gave me an off-hand nod, and moved away towards the landslip.
“May I come with you?” I asked. “I should like to see Professor Seemarsh at work.”
She made no objection, so we strolled on together, chatting on indifferent subjects. I fancy our talk was intermittent; anyhow, I know I was preoccupied with turning over in my mind the possibilities of this strange meeting. It was, in a way, natural enough; and yet something seemed to put me on my guard. That was due to the occurrences of the past fortnight and the danger we were hourly expecting to show itself. Had it not been for these circumstances, I told myself, the meeting with this extraordinary girl would have been simply one of the queer episodes with which travel abounds.