"So am I," I retorted with a grin.
"You know what I mean," he protested. "I meant ordinary in voice and general tone. But if what you say is true he must be a damn clever chap."
"An artist," I agreed.
"I can't make him out," said Bill, sewing busily. "What in the world has all this to do with his children? I want to know where they met."
"So you will, dear lady, never fear," I said, smiling. "I think Mr. Carville understands your desire perfectly."
"Oh, I know I'm a very simple person——" she began.
"By no means," I cried. "Mr. Carville would never suggest such a thing. But think for a moment! Is it not a fair guess that a man like our neighbour, who has had such a varied career, who can divine my interest in him as an author, and Mac's as an artist, will be able to fathom the reason why you watch him with a tense and silent stare?"
"Did I stare?" she said. "I'm sorry."
"We all stared," I returned. "Anyone would."
The telephone rang and Mac went to answer it. We could hear his voice plainly on the staircase.