broke out into fresh laughter. "Oh, the eccentricities of genius!"
"They seem greater even than I supposed."
"Oh, the mysteries of greatness!"
"You ought to know all about them, but they take me by surprise."
"Are you absolutely certain it was Mr. Vawdrey?" my companion asked.
"If it wasn't he, who in the world was it? That a strange gentleman, looking exactly like him, should be sitting in his room at that hour of the night and writing at his table in the dark," I insisted, "would be practically as wonderful as my own contention."
"Yes, why in the dark?" mused Mrs. Adney.
"Cats can see in the dark," I said.
She smiled at me dimly. "Did it look like a cat?"
"No, dear lady; but I'll tell you what it did look like—it looked like the author of Vawdrey's admirable works. It looked infinitely more like him than our friend does himself," I declared.
