She made a little grimace at him.

“Let us agree, then, to be mutually dissatisfied.  I do wish,” she added softly, “that I knew why father had sent for Mr. Bomford.  It is nothing to do with his work, I am sure of that.  He knows that Paul hates coming away from the office on week days.”

Burton groaned.

“Is his name Paul?”

“Certainly it is,” she answered.

“It sounds very familiar.”

“It is nothing of the sort; when you are engaged to a person, you naturally call him by his Christian name.  I can’t think, though, why father didn’t tell us that he was coming.”

“I have an idea,” Burton declared, “that his coming has something to do with me.”

“With you?

“Why not?  Am I not an interesting subject for speculation?  Mr. Bomford, you told me only a few days ago, is a scientist, an Egyptologist, a philosopher.  Why should he not be interested in the same things which interest your father?”

“It is quite true,” she admitted.  “I had not thought of that.”

“At the present moment,” Burton continued, moving a little on one side, “they are probably in the dining-room drinking Hock and seltzer, and your father is explaining to your fiance the phenomenon of my experiences.  I wonder whether he will believe them?”

“Mr. Bomford,” she said, “will believe anything that my father tells him.”

“Are you very much in love?” Burton asked, irrelevantly.

“You ask such absurd questions,” she replied.  “Nowadays, one is never in love.”

“How little you know of what goes on nowadays!” he sighed.  “What about myself?  Do I need to tell you that I am hopelessly in love with you?”

“You,” she declared, “are a phenomenon.  You do not count.”

The professor and his guest came through the French window, arm in arm, talking earnestly.

“Look at them!” Burton groaned.  “They are talking about me—­I can tell it by their furtive manner.  Mr. Bomford has heard the whole story.  He is a little incredulous but he wishes to be polite to his future father-in-law.  What a pity that I could not have a relapse while he is here!”

“Couldn’t you?” she exclaimed.  “It would be such fun!”

Burton shook his head.

“Nothing but the truth,” he declared sadly.

Mr. Bomford, without his motoring outfit, was still an unprepossessing figure.  He wore a pince-nez; his manner was fussy and inclined to be a little patronizing.  He had the air of an unsuccessful pedagogue.  He was obviously regarding Burton with a new interest.  During tea-time he conversed chiefly with Edith, who seemed a little nervous, and answered most of his questions with monosyllables.  Burton and the professor were silent.  Burton was watching Edith and the professor was watching Burton.  As soon as the meal was concluded, the professor rose to his feet.

“Edith, my dear,” he said, “we wish you to leave us for a minute or two.  Mr. Bomford and I have something to say to Mr. Burton.”