The table listened. Merrill groped for light. This Pendleton was, then, a digger among ancient ruins! Miss Wilkinson’s eyes were ready to meet Pendleton’s responsively and sympathetically: her interest in archæology was recent and superficial, but this was only the more reason for yielding ungrudging admiration to the eminent digger. Pendleton did not reply at once to Mrs. Burgess’s question, and instead of appearing pleased by its ingratiating flattery he frowned and played with his wine-glass nervously. When he broke the silence it was to say in a hard tone that was wholly unlike his usual manner of speech: “I’m not at all sure that it has been of importance; I’m inclined to think I wasted five years on those jobs.” His depression was undeniable and he made no effort to conceal it. And Mrs. Burgess was angry to find that she had clumsily touched the wrong chord, and one that seemed to be vibrating endlessly. She had always flattered herself that she had mastered the delicate art of drawing out highbrows. Scores of distinguished visitors to the Hoosier capital had gone forth to publish her charm and wit; and this was the first cloud that had ever rested above a dinner table where a Chinese prince had been made to feel at home, and whence poets, bishops, novelists, scientists and statesmen had departed radiant. She had not only struck the wrong note but one that boomed monotonously down the long corridors of time. Burgess mildly sought to inject a needleful of bromide into the situation. “You’re probably not a good judge of that, Mr. Pendleton. The world has already set its seal of approval upon your investigations.” “It’s not the world’s praise we want,” said Pendleton; “it’s the praise of the men who know.” This was not tactful; it apparently brushed aside his host’s approval as negligible. Miss Wilkinson flashed Pendleton one of her brilliant smiles, remarking: “You are altogether too modest, Mr. Pendleton. Every one says that your ‘Brickyards of Nebuchadnezzar’ is the last word on that subject.” And then a chill seized Mrs. Burgess. The yellow-haired, blue-eyed unknown moved her head slightly to one side, bit an almond in two with neatness, and said: “If I were you, Mr. Pendleton, I shouldn’t let a faker like Geisendanner annoy me.”