Hearts In The Highlands. Ruth Axtell Morren

them.”

      Reid kept looking from the objects he described to the people in the audience, trying to gauge if they were following what he was saying. He knew from previous presentations that his audience was composed of people from all walks of life. Few would have any in-depth archaeological knowledge.

      His eyes swung back from the rear of the hall toward the front. Suddenly, his gaze backtracked, thinking he’d recognized a face. He had to peer behind a lady’s wide straw hat, flanked on either side by two large bird’s wings. A young woman sat behind and to one side of it. She appeared to be listening intently to his talk. A pity that from where she sat, there was little detail she’d be able to discern of the artifacts.

      “This king lived in what is known as the Middle Kingdom.” He held up a large sculpted head of the pharaoh, all the while trying to place the face of the young woman. Reid had few acquaintances in London anymore, much less female ones.

      Then it came to him. Aunt Millie’s latest companion. Reid glanced once again at the woman in the back as he explained how excavations were carried out. “We use a system called stratification, where a series of layers are carefully dug.”

      He walked over to the tables covered with dozens of pots and numerous pottery fragments. “These pieces of sculpture and glazed faience were obtained in this manner. Although it’s more dramatic to come across a large monument like a pyramid, as my acclaimed colleague William Petrie says, to uncover the secrets of the past, it’s much more significant to study the everyday utensils of these buried sites. Hence, our emphasis on pottery shards.”

      Although the young woman sat at the very rear of the large hall, Reid was almost sure she was the young lady he’d met in his great-aunt’s parlor the other day. She’d participated little in their conversation, but he’d been impressed with her quiet, competent manner toward Aunt Millie. What a contrast to her previous companions, women of indeterminate age with their nervous titters who fluttered around Aunt Millie every time she had an attack of the vapors.

      Reid himself hardly knew how to deal with Aunt Millicent’s nerves. As a boy he’d always been slightly afraid of her exacting ways. He’d been relieved the other afternoon, when he’d thought Aunt Millie about to faint, and the steady Miss Norton had given him a reassuring look. Her light brown eyes had been sympathetic, as if telling him not to worry, she’d been through enough of these spells to manage.

      Reid wrapped up the lecture with a brief description of the ancient Egyptian symbols called hieroglyphics that covered several wall painting fragments on display.

      As the audience poured out of the lecture hall, Reid was immediately besieged by people asking him questions. He listened patiently and replied as briefly as possible knowing from experience that he could be kept hours after a lecture if he wasn’t careful.

      The hall had cleared of most people when he spotted Miss Norton again, this time making her way to the front tables. He was in midsentence with a gentleman.

      “Excuse me a moment, would you?”

      “Oh—what? Certainly, Mr. Gallagher, certainly.”

      Reid headed toward Miss Norton, glad he’d have a chance to repay the woman’s kindness to his aunt. He stood in front of her with a smile. “Miss Norton?”

      “Yes?” she said, her eyes widening in surprise. They were the same shade as her hair, a light tawny brown.

      “Did Aunt Millicent decide to brave the weather and come to the lecture?”

      “Oh, no—that is, she would have liked to but she didn’t feel quite up to it—”

      Of course his aunt wouldn’t have come to this crowded lecture hall. Too great a chance of catching some infectious disease. “I understand completely. I hadn’t expected her to show. You came on your own, then?”

      Her cheeks deepened with color, creating an attractive effect. “Yes…”

      “You’re interested in Egyptology?”

      “Yes. It’s a fascinating subject. I—I heard you mention the lecture to Lady Haversham. I thought it would be educational. I used to live in Palestine, you see,” she said quickly, her voice sounding breathless.

      He raised an eyebrow, his interest deepening. “Really? When was that?”

      She looked away as if embarrassed. “It was years ago, when I was a girl. My parents were missionaries there for some years.”

      He sensed more to the story. When she remained silent, he cleared his throat. “I hope you enjoyed the lecture.” Too late he realized it sounded as if he was hunting for a compliment.

      “Oh, yes, very much so!”

      Her enthusiasm encouraged him. “I’m glad. With a general audience, it’s hard to know whether one is hitting the right note. I don’t like to simplify things too much, but neither do I want to make things so technical I lose people’s understanding.”

      “Oh, you adopted just the right tone, I believe. When I looked around me, everyone seemed most attentive to everything you were saying.”

      His lips curled up. “No one dozing off or fidgeting?”

      She returned the smile. Her mouth was wide and generous, creating the impression that when she enjoyed something, she wouldn’t stint with her feelings. He was struck once again by the color of her eyes, a warm caramel hue. His mother, a painter, had instilled in him a sense of color, line and dimension, especially for the human face.

      “I don’t believe so, though the hall was so crowded, I wasn’t able to observe everyone.”

      “I usually make eye contact with my audience. That’s how I saw you, although I’m surprised I spotted you, you were so far back.”

      She laughed. “I was behind someone with quite a prominent hat.”

      He chuckled. “Yes, I noticed the bird hat. It’s a wonder you were able to see any of the artifacts at all. I wished I’d known you were here this morning. I would have had you seated up front.”

      “That’s quite all right. I was fine where I was…although it was difficult seeing any of the detail of the objects.”

      “Would you like to see them now?”

      She moistened her lips, her glance straying to the artifacts. “That’s actually where I was headed when you saw me. I didn’t mean to interrupt you.” She indicated the group of people waiting to speak to him.

      “If you’re worried about them, don’t be. Come along.” Giving her no time for further consideration, nor to ask himself why he was taking the trouble with her, he took her gently by the elbow and directed her toward the front.

      “Oh, Mr. Gallagher—” Reid turned to see the museum’s assistant curator approaching him. The slim young man cleared his throat and lowered his voice. “There are some gentlemen, museum patrons, you understand, who wish to have a word—”

      “Yes, in a moment.” Before he knew what he was doing, he lowered his own voice, and indicated Miss Norton at his side. “A donor.” He mouthed the words, “Major donor.”

      The man’s lips rounded in a silent O. Then he quickly backed away, bowing and smiling to Miss Norton.

      Reid led her to the nearest table. When they reached the artifacts, Miss Norton turned to him. “You needn’t stay with me. I don’t want to take you away from those waiting to speak with you—”

      For some reason, her very reluctance to keep him at her side strengthened his own resolve to remain there. “I told them you were a possible donor.”

      She stared at him. “A what?”

      He grinned, and suddenly he felt like a mischievousness boy despite his almost forty years. “If they think you’re a wealthy patroness of the museum, you’re sure to be escorted to the front at the next lecture.”

      Her