How I do want to go! Do you suppose Sanford would take us?"

"I do not, unless he loses his mind first. Aunt Abby, you're
crazy! What is the thing, anyway? Some common street show?"

"If you'd listen, Eunice, and pay a little attention, you might
know what I'm talking about. But as soon as I say telepathy you
begin to laugh and make fun of it all!"

"I haven't heard anything yet to make fun of. What's it all
about?"

But as she spoke, Eunice Embury was moving about the room, the
big living-room of their Park Avenue apartment, and in a
preoccupied way was patting her household gods on their
shoulders. A readjustment of the pink carnations in a tall
glass vase, a turning round of a long-stemmed rose in a silver
holder, a punch here and there to the pillows of the davenport
and at last dropping down on her desk chair as a hovering
butterfly settles on a chosen flower.

A moment more and she was engrossed in some letters, and Aunt
Abby sighed resignedly, quite hopeless now of interesting her
niece in her project.

"All the same, I'm going," she remarked, nodding her head at the
back of the graceful figure sitting at the desk. "Newark isn't
so far away; I could go alone--or maybe take Maggie--she'd love
it--'Start from the Oberon Theatre--at 2 P.M.--' 'Him, I could
have an early lunch and--'hidden in any part of the city--only