"You wished to see—some one?" she inquired.
As they spoke absolutely together neither heard the other's question and each silently awaited an answer.
"Tick ... tock" said the old clock, sleepily.
Wade's gaze wandered. He wondered whether it would be unforgivable to dash quickly out and slam the door behind him. But in the next breath escape was forgotten and he was looking about him in sheer amazement. Here was his hallway, but no longer empty. A shield-backed chair stood beside the parlor door. A settle ran along the wall beyond. A pink-cheeked moon leered at him from the top of a tall clock. Bewilderedly he looked toward the sitting-room. There, too, everything was changed. The floor was painted gray. Rugs took the place of carpet. Gauzy lace curtains hung at the windows. A canary in a gilt cage sung above an open window. Oh, plainly he was bewitched or the world was topsy-turvy! The look he turned on the girl was so helpless, so entreating that her face, which had begun to set coldly, softened instantly. The hand clasping the curtain fold fell to her side and she took a step toward him.
"Can I help you?" she asked, kindly.
Wade passed a hand over his eyes.
"I don't know," he murmured. "Will you please tell me where I am?"
"You're in my house. I am Miss Walton."
"Your house? Then—then where is mine, please?" he asked, helplessly.
"Just beyond here; the next one."