to the old mockery with which mirrors avenge their wrongs. The
nucleus of some queer thing seemed to gather and shape itself
behind the nothingness of the reflected eyes until it became
almost an actual strange presence. If it could be identified,
perhaps the presence was that of the hidden designer who handed
up the false, ready-made pictures, and, for unknown purposes,
made Alice exhibit them; but whatever it was, she suddenly found
it monkey-like and terrifying. In a flutter she jumped up and
went to another part of the room.

A moment or two later she was whistling softly as she hung her
light coat over a wooden triangle in her closet, and her musing
now was quainter than the experience that led to it; for what she
thought was this, "I certainly am a queer girl!" She took a
little pride in so much originality, believing herself probably
the only person in the world to have such thoughts as had been
hers since she entered the room, and the first to be disturbed by
a strange presence in the mirror. In fact, the effect of the
tiny episode became apparent in that look of preoccupied
complacency to be seen for a time upon any girl who has found
reason to suspect that she is a being without counterpart.

This slight glow, still faintly radiant, was observed across the
dinner-table by Walter, but he misinterpreted it. "What YOU
lookin' so self-satisfied about?" he inquired, and added in his
knowing way, "I saw you, all right, cutie!"

"Where'd you see me?"

"Down-town."