ham interrupted, "the archdeacon will rush forth
and pelt that expert with Shepherd Kings and Seqenen-Ra and the whole
tag-rag and bobtail of the seventeenth dynasty. Oh, there'll be wigs on
the green, I can tell you."

"Yes, I expect there will be quite a lively little skirmish," said Miss
Bellingham. And thus dismissing the subject, she made an energetic
attack on the toast while her father refreshed himself with a colossal
yawn.

I watched her with furtive admiration and deep and growing interest. In
spite of her pallor, her weary eyes, and her drawn and almost haggard
face, she was an exceedingly handsome girl; and there was in her aspect
a suggestion of purpose, of strength and character that marked her off
from the rank and file of womanhood. I noted this as I stole an
occasional glance at her or turned to answer some remark addressed to
me; and I noted, too, that her speech, despite a general undertone of
depression, was yet not without a certain caustic, ironical humour. She
was certainly a rather enigmatical young person, but very decidedly
interesting.

When she had finished her repast she put aside the tray and, opening the
shabby handbag, asked:

"Do you take any interest in Egyptian history? We are as mad as hatters
on the subject. It seems to be a family complaint."

"I don't know much about it," I answered. "Medical studies are rather
engrossing and don't leave much time for general reading."

"Naturally," she said. "You can't specialise in everything. But if you
would care to see how the business of a literary jackal is conducted, I
will show you my notes."

I accepted the offer eagerly (not, I fear, from pure enthusiasm for the
subject), and she brought forth from the bag four blue-covered, quarto
note-books, each dealing with one of the four dynasties from the
fourteenth to the seventeenth. As I glanced through the neat and orderly
extracts with which they were filled we discussed the intricacies of the
peculiarly difficult and confused period that they covered, gradually
lowering our voices as Mr. Bellingham's eyes closed and his head fell
against the back of his chair. We had just reached the critical reign of
Apepa II when a resounding snore broke in upon the studious quiet of
the room and sent us both into a fit of silent laughter.

"Your conversation has done its work," she whispered as I stealthily
picked up my hat, and together we stole on tiptoe to the door, which she
opened without a