We all gave way in a gale of laughter, and sat down on the verandah and had our joke out in full recognition of the fact. When Kendricks rose to go at last, I said, “We won’t say anything about this little incident to Mrs. March, hey?” And then they laughed again as if it were the finest wit in the world, and Miss Gage bade me a joyful good-night at the head of the stairs as she went off to her room and I to mine.
I found Mrs. March waiting up with a book; and as soon as I shut myself in with her she said, awfully, “What were you laughing so about?”
“Laughing? Did you hear me laughing?”
“The whole house heard you, I’m afraid. You certainly ought to have known better, Basil. It was very inconsiderate of you.” And as I saw she was going on with more of that sort of thing, to divert her thoughts from my crime I told her the whole story. It had quite the effect I intended up to a certain point. She even smiled a little, as much as a woman could be expected to smile who was not originally in the joke.
“And they had got to comparing weird experiences?” she asked.
“Yes; the staleness of the thing almost made me sick. Do you remember when we first compared our weird experiences? But I suppose they will go on doing it to the end of time, and it will have as great a charm for the last man and woman as it had for Adam and Eve when they compared their weird experiences.”
“And was that what you were laughing at?”
“We were laughing at the wonderful case of telepathy I put up on them.”
Mrs. March faced her open book down on the table before her, and looked at me with profound solemnity. “Well, then, I can tell you, my dear, it is no laughing matter. If they have got to the weird it is very serious; and her talking to him about her family, and his wanting to know about her father, that’s serious too—far more serious than either of them can understand. I don’t like it, Basil; we have got a terrible affair on our hands.”
“Terrible?”