I nodded assent. It didn't strike me as being worth much more.
"I wonder what is the trouble?" she said, after a pause.
"Trouble?" I repeated inquiringly.
"Across the street," she explained, "there were two Silhouettes in the parlor Monday night, and one went away early; the other had her handkerchief to her eyes——"
"Oho! So you've been keeping cases, eh?"
"I don't get your vernacular," she retorted meaningly.
"Well—er—what's this got to do with moonlight?" I demanded, changing the subject.
"It was moonlight last night, and it's moonlight to-night," she replied, "and all the derbies on the hat-rack over there belong to the men in the family, and it's nine-thirty. It seems to me that if I were the Man Silhouette, I'd at least write, but the mailman hasn't stopped there but once in four days, and then he only delivered a circular, because I got one myself and I recognized it by the big red type on the envelope, and—I think it's a shame, that's what I do, and I don't care, so there!"
You know, when a woman doesn't care, so there, she usually gets all worked up about it. It's a way she has of showing her indifference.
"Have you seen him yet—the Man Silhouette?" I asked.