"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.
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