The Double Life Of Mr. Alfred Burton Part 23

Considering her late laments, the dismay in her tone was a little astonishing.

"It is Mr. Bomford!" she cried.

Burton sighed--with relief.

"I am glad to hear that it is human," he murmured. "I thought that it was a Wells nightmare or that something from underground had been let loose."

She shot an indignant glance at him. Her greeting of Mr. Bomford was almost enough to turn his head. She held out both her hands.

"My dear Mr.--my dear Paul!" she exclaimed. "How glad I am to see you!

Have you motored down?"

"Obviously, my dear, obviously," the newcomer remarked, removing further portions of his disguise and revealing a middle-aged man of medium height and unimposing appearance, with slight sandy whiskers and moustache. "A very hot and dusty ride too. Still, after your father's message I did not hesitate for a second. Where is he, Edith? Have you any idea what it is that he wants?"

She shook her head.

"Did he send for you?" she asked.

"Send for me!" Mr. Bomford repeated. "I should rather think he did."

He looked inquiringly towards Burton. Edith introduced them.

"This," she said, "is Mr. Burton, a friend of father's, who is staying with us for a few days. He is writing a book. Perhaps, if you are very polite to him, he will let you publish it. Mr. Bomford--Mr. Burton."

The two men shook hands solemnly. Neither of them expressed any pleasure at the meeting.

"I am sure you would like a drink," Edith suggested. "Let me take you up to the house and we can find father. You won't mind, Mr. Burton?"

"Not in the least," he a.s.sured her.

They disappeared into the house. Burton threw himself once more upon the lawn, his hands clasped behind his head, gazing upwards through the leafy boughs to the blue sky. So this was Mr. Bomford! This was the rival of whom he had heard! Not so very formidable a person, not formidable at all save for one thing only--he was free to marry her, free to marry Edith. Burton lay and dreamed in the sunshine. A thrush came out and sang to him. A west wind brought him wafts of perfume from the gardens below. The serenity of the perfect afternoon mocked his disturbed frame of mind. What was the use of it all? The longer he remained here the more abject he became! . . . Suddenly Edith reappeared alone. She came across the lawn to him with a slight frown upon her forehead. He lay there and watched her until the last moment.

Then he rose and dragged out a chair for her.

"So the lovers' interview is over!" he ventured to observe. "You do not seem altogether transported with delight."

"I am very much pleased indeed to see Mr. Bomford," she a.s.sured him.

"I," he murmured, "am glad that I have seen him."

Edith looked at him covertly.

"I do not think," she said, "that I quite approve of your tone this afternoon."

"I am quite sure," he retorted, "that I do not approve of yours."

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."

Edith, with a slight shrug of the shoulders, rose to her feet. She caught a glance from Burton and turned at once to her fiance.

"Am I to be taken for a ride this evening?" she asked.