“Yes.  That is—­well, in a way, of course, one of the family.  That Mrs. Roscoe Sheridan is not a—­that is, she’s rather a pleasant-faced little woman, I think, and of course rather ordinary.  I think she is interested about—­that is, of course, she’d be anxious to be more intimate with Mary, naturally.  She’s always looking over here from her house; she was looking out the window this afternoon when Mary went out, I noticed—­though I don’t think Mary saw her.  I’m sure she wouldn’t think it out of place to—­to be frank about matters.  She called the other day, and Mary must rather like her—­she said that evening that the call had done her good.  Don’t you think it might be wise?”

“Wise?  I don’t know.  I feel the whole matter is impossible.”

“Yes, so do I,” she returned, promptly.  “It isn’t really a thing we should be considering seriously, of course.  Still—­”

“I should say not!  But possibly—­”

Thus they skirmished up and down the field, but before they turned the lights out and went up-stairs it was thoroughly understood between them that Mrs. Vertrees should seek the earliest opportunity to obtain definite information from Sibyl Sheridan concerning the mental and physical status of Bibbs.  And if he were subject to attacks of lunacy, the unhappy pair decided to prevent the sacrifice they supposed their daughter intended to make of herself.  Altogether, if there were spiteful ghosts in the old house that night, eavesdropping upon the woeful comedy, they must have died anew of laughter!

Mrs. Vertrees’s opportunity occurred the very next afternoon.  Darkness had fallen, and the piano-movers had come.  They were carrying the piano down the front steps, and Mrs. Vertrees was standing in the open doorway behind them, preparing to withdraw, when she heard a sharp exclamation; and Mrs. Roscoe Sheridan, bareheaded, emerged from the shadow into the light of the doorway.

“Good gracious!” she cried.  “It did give me a fright!”

“It’s Mrs. Sheridan, isn’t it?” Mrs. Vertrees was perplexed by this informal appearance, but she reflected that it might be providential.  “Won’t you come in?”

“No.  Oh no, thank you!” Sibyl panted, pressing her hand to her side.  “You don’t know what a fright you’ve given me!  And it was nothing but your piano!” She laughed shrilly.  “You know, since our tragedy coming so suddenly the other day, you have no idea how upset I’ve been —­almost hysterical!  And I just glanced out of the window, a minute or so ago, and saw your door wide open and black figures of men against the light, carrying something heavy, and I almost fainted.  You see, it was just the way it looked when I saw them bringing my poor brother-in-law in, next door, only such a few short days ago.  And I thought I’d seen your daughter start for a drive with Bibbs Sheridan in a car about three o’clock—­and—­ They aren’t back yet, are they?”