"What drove you out?" he asked guiltily.
"Something--you can scarcely credit it--and I dare not tell the janitor for fear he will think me--queer." She raised her distressed and lovely eyes again: "Oh, please believe that I did see a bright green mouse!"
"I do believe it," he said, wincing.
"Thank you. I--I know perfectly well how it sounds--and I know that horrid people see things like that, but"--she spoke piteously--"I had only one glass of claret at luncheon, and I am perfectly healthy in body and mind. How could I see such a thing if it was not there?"
"It was there," he declared.
"Do you really think so? A green--bright green mouse?"
"Haven't a doubt of it," he assured her; "saw one myself the other day."
"Where?"
"On the floor--" he made a vague gesture. "There's probably a crack between your studio and my wall, and the little rascal crept into your place."
She stood looking at him uncertainly: "Are there really such things as green mice?"