pleasantly and coolly, and put out her hand. The moment that he
touched it he knew that he was sane even if the solar system was
crazy.

She was entirely elegant and unembarrassed. That is the awful
thing about women--they refuse to be emotional at emotional
moments, upon some such ludicrous pretext as there being someone
else there. But MacIan was in a condition of criticism much less
than the average masculine one, being in fact merely overturned
by the rushing riddle of the events.

Evan does not know to this day what particular question he asked,
but he vividly remembers that she answered, and every line or
fluctuation of her face as she said it.

"Oh, don't you know?" she said, smiling, and suddenly lifting her
level brown eyebrows. "Haven't you heard the news? I'm a
lunatic."

Then she added after a short pause, and with a sort of pride:
"I've got a certificate."

Her manner, by the matchless social stoicism of her sex, was
entirely suited to a drawing-room, but Evan's reply fell somewhat
far short of such a standard, as he only said: "What the devil in
hell does all this nonsense mean?"

"Really," said the young lady, and laughed.

"I beg your pardon," said the unhappy young man, rather wildly,