CHAPTER I

THE TWO STRANGERS

It did not seem a very pleasant room. To be sure, there were a great
many nice things in it. There was rose-colored paper on the wall, and
the woodwork was of ivory, with gilt lines. There were pictures of
ships on the ocean and of high trees and of the sun going down behind a
hill, and there was one of an old mill with nobody at all in sight.
And there was one picture with dogs in it.

There was a soft rug, also of rose-color, and a fine clock, shaped like
a state capitol, on the mantel. There was a silver gong in the clock
which made beautiful music. There was a nice reading table with books
on it, and a lamp. The lamp had a shade made up of queerly-shaped bits
of material like onyx, and a fringe of rose-colored beads. Yet for all
this, it did not seem a pleasant room. You could feel that something
was wrong. You know, there are always so many things in a room which
you cannot see.

A lady and a gentleman sat at the reading-table, one on either side.
It seemed they hadn't a word to say to each other. They did not even
look at each other. The lady turned the pages of a magazine without
seeing a single thing. The gentleman sat staring straight before him,
and after a long time he stretched himself and said: "Ho--hum!" And
then he began to frown and to stare at an oak chair over against the
wall.

You might have supposed he had a grudge against the chair; and it