“I’m going out!” he said, abruptly, and put on his hat. Then he drew on his gloves, lighted a cigarette, and glanced across at his neighbor.
“I wish you were going, too,” he said.
His neighbor had risen and was now standing by her window, hands clasped behind her, gazing dreamily out into the sunshine.
“Upon my word,” said Tennant, “you are really as pretty as my sketch! Now isn’t that curious? I had no idea—”
A rich tint crept into his neighbor’s face, staining the white skin with carmine.
“The sun is doing you good,” he said, approvingly. “You ought to put on your hat and go out.”
She turned, as though she had heard his words, and picked up a big, black straw hat, placing it daintily upon her head.
“Well!—if—that—isn’t—curious!” said Tennant, astonished, as she swung nonchalantly towards an invisible mirror and passed a long, gilded pin through the crown of her hat.
“It seems that I only have to suggest a thing—” He hesitated, watching her.
“Of course it was coincidence,” he said; “but—suppose it wasn’t? Suppose it was telepathy—thought transmitted?”