“I know it is considered desirable to have these Oriental things worn,” said Mrs. Lee, “but there is no sense in letting an expensive rug like this wear out, and no good house-keeper would.”

“Well, I agree with you,” said Mrs. Van Dorn.

Presently they passed on to the other rooms.  They made a long halt in the dining-room.

“That must be their solid silver,” said Mrs. Van Dorn, regarding rather an ostentatious display on the sideboard.

“The idea of going away and leaving all that silver, and the doors unlocked!” said Mrs. Lee.

“Evidently they are people so accustomed to rich things that they don’t think of such risks,” said Mrs. Van Dorn, with a curious effect of smacking her lips over possessions of her own, instead of her neighbors.  She in reality spoke from the heights of a small but solid silver service, and a noble supply of spoons, and Mrs. Lee knew it.

“I suppose they must have perfectly beautiful table-linen,” remarked Mrs. Lee, with a wistful glance at the sideboard-drawers.

“Yes, I suppose so,” assented Mrs. Van Dorn, with a half-sigh.  Her eyes also on the closed drawers of the sideboard, were melancholy, but there was a line which neither woman could pass.  They could pry about another woman’s house in her absence, but they shrank from opening her drawers and investigating her closets.  They respected all that was covered from plain sight.  Up-stairs it was the same.  Things were strewn about rather carelessly, therefore they saw more than they would otherwise have done, but the closet-doors and the bureau-drawers happened to be closed, and those were inviolate.

“If all their clothes are as nice as these, they must have wardrobes nicer than any ever seen in Banbridge,” said Mrs. Lee, fingering delicately a lace-trimmed petticoat flung over a chair in one of the bedrooms.  “This is real lace, don’t you think so, Mrs. Van Dorn?”

“I don’t think.  I know,” replied Mrs. Van Dorn.  “They must have elegant wardrobes, and they must be very wealthy people.  They—­” Suddenly Mrs. Van Dorn cut her remarks short.  She turned quite pale and clutched at her companion’s silk-clad arm.  “Hush!” she whispered.  “What was that?”

Mrs. Lee, herself ashy white, looked at her.  Both had distinctly heard a noise.  Now they heard it again.  The sound was that of footsteps, evidently those of a man, in the lower hall.

“What shall we do?  Oh, what shall we do?” said Mrs. Lee, in a thin whisper.  She trembled so that she could scarcely stand.

Mrs. Van Dorn, trying to speak, only chattered.  She clutched Mrs. Lee harder.

“Is there a back staircase?  Oh, is there?” whispered Mrs. Lee.  “Is there?” The odor of a cigar stole softly through the house.  “I can smell his cigar,” whispered Mrs. Lee, in an agony.

Mrs. Van Dorn pulled herself together.  She nodded, and began pulling Mrs. Lee towards the door.