“Let’s go talk to my foremen,” said Chuka complacently. “We’ll see how fast my ... ah ... mineral spring is trickling metal down the cliff-face. If you can really launch a lifeboat, we might get some help here in a year and a half instead of five——”
They went out-of-doors together. There was a small sound in the next office. Aletha was suddenly very, very still. She sat motionless for a long half-minute. Then she turned her head.
“I owe you an apology, Mr. Bordman,” she said ruefully. “It won’t take back the discourtesy, but—I’m very sorry.”
Bordman came into the office from the next room. He was rather pale. He said wryly:
“Eavesdroppers never hear good of themselves, eh? Actually I was on the way in here when I heard—references to myself it would embarrass Chuka and your cousin to know I heard. So I stopped. Not to listen, but to keep them from knowing I’d heard their private opinions of me. I’ll be obliged if you don’t tell them. They’re entitled to their opinions of me. I’ve mine of them.” He added grimly, “Apparently I think more highly of them than they do of me!”
Aletha said contritely:
“It must have sounded horrible! But they ... we ... all of us think better of you than you do of yourself!”
Bordman shrugged.
“You in particular. ‘Would you marry someone like me? Great Manitou, no!’”