"'That don't get out'!" I repeated stupidly. "That don't get out? Why?"
"Because I'm insane," he said placidly.
I don't pretend to any unusual share of equanimity, and it was not till we were back in the shelter of my own home, with the comfort of my own tea-tray before me and my own little applewood fire snapping on the hearth, that I brought myself to discuss the matter with Emily's boy. He had come back with me and we were going to the opera together later.
"I suppose that was what you wanted me to see?" I said abruptly.
He nodded.
"Just that. I wanted your idea. It's one of the most interesting cases—with all its complications—I ever knew. Father's turned it over to me, practically. He knows all about it."
"But, Will, the man's as sane as I am!"
"How much did you talk with him?"
"Quite as much as with hundreds of other people!"