Her father's face, bent down over his note-book, was getting more terrible to look upon every moment.

The mere fact that he had not uttered a sound since the demonstrations had begun was sufficiently ominous, for it meant that he was puzzled--perhaps even beaten--and if that was so, she dreaded to even imagine what might happen.

On the other hand, Nitocris felt her spirits rising as she looked round and saw the many learned heads bending and shaking over the note-books, each owner of them working at high pressure to win the honour of first finding the error which all firmly believed must exist, and which none of them could detect.
When he had finished his third demonstration, Franklin Marmion, without interrupting the hard thinking that was going on, took a chair by the side of the President, poured out a glass of water, and waited for results.
"Marmion, what is this white magic that you have been springing upon us ?" whispered the presiding genius of the learned assembly, looking up from several sheets of paper which he had been rapidly covering with formulae.

"These things are impossible, you know--unless, of course, you have got a good deal farther than any of us.

And yet the calculations are correct as far as I can follow them, and no one else seems to have hit on any error yet.