“Now, love, don’t you ever say women are not practical again. That was a practical question, you see. But didn’t it strike the house? What a queer smell. Ozone: isn’t that what you were telling me about? How funny, that lightning should have a smell!”
“I believe there’s no doubt of it,” observed Dr. Hicok.
Mr. Apollo Lyon had really gone, though just how or when, nobody could say.
“My dear,” said Dr. Hicok, “I do so like that bonnet of yours! I don’t wonder it puzzled him. It would puzzle the Devil himself. I firmly believe I shall call it your Devil-puzzler.”
But he never told her what the puzzle had been.
FOOTNOTES:
[19] By permission of G. P. Putnam’s Sons, Publishers. New York and London.