specimens, or scratching in the sand under the broiling sun? Science
does not consult comfort."

Miss Reynier's expression of quizzical teasing changed to one of rather
thoughtful inquiry, as if she were estimating the man behind the
scientist. Van Camp was of the lean, angular type, like Jim Hambleton.
He was also very manly and wholesome, but even in his conventional
evening clothes there was something about him that was unconventional--a
protesting, untamed element of character that resisted all rules except
those prescribed by itself. He puzzled her now, as he had often puzzled
her before; but if she made fun of his hobbies, she had no mind to make
fun of the man himself. A cheerful, intelligent smile finally ended her
contemplating moment.

"Oh, no; no digging in the sand for me. I'll take what science I get in
another way--put up in predigested packages or bottled--any way but the
fishy way. But please don't give me up. You shed a good deal of light
on my mental darkness last winter in Egypt, and maybe I can improve still
more." She suddenly turned with friendly, confidential manner toward
Aleck, not waiting for replies to her remarks. "It's good to see you
again! And I like it here better than in Egypt, don't you? Don't you
think this apartment jolly?"

The shaded lamps made a pretty light over Miss Reynier's cream-colored
silk flounces, over the delicate lace on her waist, over her glossy dark
hair and spirited face. As Aleck contemplated that face, with its eager
yet modest and womanly gaze, and the noble outline of her figure, he
thought, with an unwonted flowering of imagination, that she was not
unlike the Diana of classic days. "A domestic Diana," he added in his
mind. "She may love the woods and freedom, but she will always return to