s things through a microscope--"

"One doesn't--in psychology."

"Well, perhaps not so much as formerly, especially since vivisection is
so looked down upon. But it is terribly absorbing, as I say. And one
can hardly expect an absorbed man to see things. And yet--"

"What is it," asked Mary bluntly, "that you think Professor Spence
ought to see?"

This was entirely too blunt for Mrs. Keene. She, in her turn, looked
blank. What did Miss Davis mean? She was not aware that she had
suggested the professor's seeing anything. Probably there was nothing
at all to see. Young people have such latitude nowadays. She herself
was not a gossip. She despised gossip. "What I always say," declared
she, virtuously, "is 'do not hint thing's.' Say them right out and then
we shall know where we are. Don't you think so?"

Mary agreed that, under these conditions also, one might be fairly sure
of one's position in space. "Unless," she concluded maliciously, "there
is anything in the Einstein theory."

This latter shot had the effect intended, for Mrs. Keene said
hurriedly, "Oh, of course in that case--" and moved away.

"I'm going home, Mary," said Aunt Caroline, coming up. Aunt Caroline
had had enough garden party. She had noticed both the rescue of Desire
by John, and the conversation of Mary with Mrs. Keene--the "worst old
gossip in Bainbridge."

Desire was quite ready to go. So was Mary. The centre of attraction for
them both had shifted itself. John too, felt that he ought to turn up
at the office. But all three ladies politely declined a lift home in
his car.

"It is so hot," he pleaded.

"It is not hot," said Aunt Caroline.

Mary smiled mockingly and murmured something about the great distances
of small towns. Desire said, "No, thank you, John," in her detached
way--a way which drove him mad even while he adored it.

So the Burton-Jones garden party faded into history. But
history-in-the-making caught up its effects and carried them on....

It was a lovely night. But indoors it was hot with the accumulated heat
of the day. Instead of going to bed, Mary slipped out into the garden.
It was fresher there, and she was restless. The front of the house lay
in darkness, but, from the library window at the side, stretched a
ribbon of light. Benis must be still at work. With slippers which made
no sound upon the grass, Mary crossed over to the window and looked in.

What she saw there stung her already fretted soul to unreason