"Nothing. Just looking into one of Sheridans' windows," said Mary
Vertrees. "I got caught at it."

"Mary!" cried her mother. "Just as we were going to call! Good
heavens!"

"We'll go, just the same," the daughter returned. "I suppose those
women would be glad to have us if we'd burned their house to the
ground."

"But WHO saw you?" insisted Mrs. Vertrees.

"One of the sons, I suppose he was. I believe he's insane, or
something. At least I hear they keep him in a sanitarium somewhere,
and never talk about him. He was staring at himself in a mirror and
talking to himself. Then he looked out and caught me."

"What did he--"

"Nothing, of course."

"How did he look?"

"Like a ghost in a blue suit," said Miss Vertrees, moving toward
the street and waving a white-gloved hand in farewell to her father,
who was observing them from the window of his library. "Rather tragic
and altogether impossible. Do come on, mother, and let's get it
over!"

And Mrs. Vertrees, with many misgivings, set forth with her daughter