THE GIRL IN HIS HOUSE
woman quite like her. She has the queerest ideas. The whole world is nothing except a fairy-story to her. I loved her the moment I saw her. Have you ever run across or heard of Hubert Athelstone, explorer and archeologist?"
"Athelstone? No. But that doesn't signify anything. Those chaps are a queer breed. They are known only among themselves. I've run into a few of them. They eat hieroglyphics, walk in a maze of them, sleep on them, and die under them. Almost always they are unattached, homeless beggars, or, if they have families, they forget all about them. No; I don't recollect the name. Odd one, though."
"We haven't met him yet. I believe he's somewhere in Yucatan. She hasn't seen him in ages. I never heard of a daughter worshiping a father the way this girl does. It makes me feel little and small when she begins to talk about him. My general impression regarding archeologists hasn't been complimentary. I've always pictured them as withered, dried-up things with huge glasses. But Mr. Athelstone is one of the handsomest men I've ever seen. She has
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