was given to feminine duties and pleasures, she
frequently did the same thing. Between seven and eight in the evening
they had delightful conversational opportunities. He picked up her book
and glanced it over, he asked her a few questions and answered a few;
but she saw it was with a somewhat preoccupied manner. She knew a
certain remote look in his eye, and she waited to see him get up from
his chair and begin to walk to and fro, with his hands in his pockets
and his head thrown back. When, after having done this, he began in
addition to whistle softly and draw his eyebrows together, she broke in
upon him in the manner of merely following an established custom.

"I am perfectly sure," was her remark, "that you have come upon one of
the Extraordinary Cases."

The last two words were spoken as with inverted commas. Of many deep
interests he added to her existence, the Extraordinary Cases were among
the most absorbing. He had begun to discuss them with her during the
first year of their married life. Accident had thrown one of them into
her immediate personal experience, and her clear-headed comprehension
and sympathy in summing up singular evidence had been of such value to
him that he had turned to her in the occurrence of others for the aid
straightforward, mutual logic could give. She had learned to await the
Extraordinary Case with something like eagerness. Sometimes, it was
true, its incidents were painful; but invariably they were absorbing in
their interest, and occasionally illuminating beyond description. Of
names and persons it was not necessary she should hear anything--the
drama, the ethics, were enough. With an absolute respect for his
professional reserves, she asked no questions he could not reply to
freely, and avoided even the innocent following of clues. The
Extraordinary Case was always quite enough as it stood. When she saw the
remotely speculative look in his eye, she suspected one, when he left
his chair and paced the floor with that little air of restlessness, and
ended with unconscious whistling which was scarcely louder than a
breath, she felt that evidence enough had accumulated for her.

He stopped and turned round.

"My good Mary," he owned at once, "its extraordinariness consists in its
baffling me by being so perfectly ordinary."

"Well, at least that is not frequent. What is its nature? Is it awful?
Is it sad? Is it eccentric? Is it mad or sane, criminal or domestic?"

"It is nothing