the fence, I would rather not
get into trouble by interfering with their affairs."

"She didn't seem any too friendly."

"Hostile would describe it better."

"Still, if you could get a word with her, it might elucidate the
mystery?" "Yes," I said, as the gong tinkled within.

"Chop," said he, and we went in to dinner.

We had reached the cheese and celery before Bill contributed a piece of
news that impressed us in different ways.

"I 'phoned Miss Fraenkel this morning," she said, "and asked her to come
up after dinner this evening. She said she'd be tickled to death to
come."

I said nothing at first, and Mac, annexing an unusually large piece of
cheese, grinned.

"Say," he said, "suppose we get Miss Fraenkel's opinion of the chap with
the hooked nose. She's American; she'll be sure to have an opinion."

"No doubt," I conceded. "We shall see whether we have not taken too much
for granted. There's only one thing, and that is, are we not exposing
Miss Fraenkel to temptation by exciting her curiosity yet more about her
neighbour?"

"Oh, bunk!" said Mac. "Women don't have to be led into that sort of
temptation. They take it in with their mother's milk."

"You cynical old devil!" exclaimed Bill, indignantly.

"Well, it's true," he defended himself stoutly. "I'll bet you a quarter
Miss Fraenkel's already tried them and found them guilty."

"Of what?" demanded Bill.

"Oh, ask Miss Fraenkel," said he. "How should I know?"

"I think," I said, gently, "you are making a mistake. Consider! Miss
Fraenkel is no doubt interested in her neighbours, like any other woman.
But you make a big mistake if you imagine that ordinary people, people
who are not professionally concerned with human nature, are accustomed
to draw conclusions and observe character, as--as we do, for example. I
have always thought," I went on, stirring my coffee, "that Jane Austen
made this same mistake. She takes a small community, much like Netley,
N. J., and suggests, by the conversation of the characters, that they are
all as observant and as shrewd as herself. We feel it was not so. Nay,
we _know_ it was not so, for Jane's genius in that direction was almost
uncanny. Now there is, I am safe in saying, nothing uncanny about Miss
Fraenkel."

"She's very nice!" said Bill, nodding blithely at me over her cup.

I am loth to give any colour to the suspicion that I am about to confuse
my narrative with extraneous details; but I must confess that B