“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?”

“Well,” he explained, “I fancy this one was originally white.  Somebody probably dyed it green.”

“But who on earth would be silly enough to do such a thing?”

His ears grew red—­he felt them doing it.

After a moment she said:  “I am glad you told me that you, too, saw this unspeakable mouse.  I have decided to write to the owners of the house and request an immediate investigation.  Would—­would it be too much to ask you to write also?”

“Are you—­you going to write?” he asked, appalled.

“Certainly.  Either some dreadful creature here keeps a bird store and brings home things that escape, or the house is infested.  I don’t care what the janitor says; I did hear squeals and whines and whimpers!”

“Suppose—­suppose we wait,” he began lamely; but at that moment her blue eyes widened; she caught him convulsively by the arm, pointing, one snowy finger outstretched.

“Oh-h!” she said hysterically, and the next instant was standing upon a chair, pale as a ghost.  It was a wonder she had not mounted the dresser, too, for there, issuing in creepy single file from the wainscoting, came mice—­mice of various tints.  A red one led the grewsome rank, a black and white one came next, then in decorous procession followed the guilty green one, a yellow one, a blue one, and finally—­horror of horrors!—­a red-white-and-blue mouse, carrying a tiny American flag.

He turned a miserable face toward her; she, eyes dilated, frozen to a statue, saw him advance, hold out a white wand—­saw the uncanny procession of mice mount the stick and form into a row, tails hanging down—­saw him carry the creatures to a box and dump them in.

He was trying to speak now.  She heard him stammer something about the escape of the mice; she heard him asking her pardon.  Dazed, she laid her hand in his as he aided her to descend to the floor; nerveless, speechless, she sank into the big chair, horror still dilating her eyes.

“It’s all up with me,” he said slowly, “if you write to the owners.  I’ve bribed the janitor to say nothing.  I’m dreadfully mortified that these things have happened to annoy you.”