With the
annoyance of a woman who is not getting her own way, she leaned
back in Braddock's one comfortable chair--which she had
unerringly selected--and examined him intently. Perhaps the
gossips were correct, and she was trying to imagine what kind of
a husband he would make. But whatever might be her thoughts, she
eyed Braddock as earnestly as Braddock eyed the scarabeus.
Outwardly the Professor did not appear like the savant he was
reported to be. He was small of stature, plump of body, rosy as
a little Cupid, and extraordinarily youthful, considering his
fifty-odd years of scientific wear and tear. With a smooth,
clean-shaven face, plentiful white hair like spun silk, and neat
feet and hands, he did not look his age. The dreamy look in his
small blue eyes was rather belied by the hardness of his thin-
lipped mouth, and by the pugnacious push of his jaw. The eyes
and the dome-like forehead hinted that brain without much
originality; but the lower part of this contradictory countenance
might have belonged to a prize-fighter. Nevertheless, Braddock's
plumpness did away to a considerable extent with his aggressive
look. It was certainly latent, but only came to the surface when
he fought with a brother savant over some tomb-dweller from
Thebes.
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