"
Her gaze wandered around his room; then suddenly the possible
significance of her unconventional situation brought her to her feet,
serious but self-possessed.
"I beg your pardon again," she said, "but I was really driven out of my
studio--quite frightened, I confess."
"What drove you out?" he asked guiltily.
"Something--you can scarcely credit it--and I dare not tell the janitor
for fear he will think me--queer." She raised her distressed and lovely
eyes again: "Oh, please believe that I _did_ see a bright green mouse!"
"I do believe it," he said, wincing.
"Thank you. I--I know perfectly well how it sounds--and I know that
horrid people see things like that, but"--she spoke piteously--"I had
only one glass of claret at luncheon, and I am perfectly healthy in body
and mind. How could I see such a thing if it was not there?"
"It was there," he declared.
"Do you really think so? A green--bright green mouse?"
"Haven't a doubt of it," he assured her; "saw one myself the other day."
"Where?"
"On the floor--" he made a vague gesture. "There's probably a crack
between your studio and my wall, and the little rascal crept into your
place."
She stood looking at him uncertainly: "Are there really such things as
green mice?"
"Well," he explained, "I fancy this one was originally white. Somebody
probably dyed it green."
"But who on earth would be silly enough to do such a thing?"
His ears grew red--he felt them doing it.
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