r he was Richard Stanchon's only son.

"Of course, you know," he said quietly, "I see what they mean--most of
'em. I always do, somehow. And the more you do that, the less insane
they get to seem to you. It's only you and I, a little warped, a
little exaggerated. My idea is that fewer and fewer of them will be
sent to places like this, and more and more put out among families--oh,
don't shiver, aunty, there's nothing to shiver at, I assure you.

"Look here--do you see that tall girl in the blue silk shirtwaist?"

I saw her--she was reading _Punch_ before the big library fire (it was
furnished like a wealthy private club, the library), and just because
she was so calm and high bred and Madonna-faced, I flattered myself
that I could jump in the right direction.

"Does she murder babies?" I asked resignedly.

"Not at all," he replied, with a tiny grin for my cleverness, "not a
bit of it. She only insists on taking five baths a day and never
touching any washable thing that's been handled. She wears five
changes a day and cleans the piano keys before she plays--plays very
well, too."

"But--but, is that all?"

"Every bit."

"Then why must she come here?"

"Oh, well, there are practical complications, of course. She thinks
most people are pigs, and says so. Then her family is nervous--I
notice most of them come from very nervous families--and they simply
couldn't rub on. She shampoos her head every day. It's my firm
belief, aunty, that if some steady-going German-American family without
any nerves would give her two rooms and a bath and put up with her for
a few months, she'd be all right. Honestly, as it is, she's fretting
herself crazy. She's no fool, you know."

"Heavens, Will! Why, I can perfectly understand----"

"Of course you can. Not mother, though. Mother won't hear about
her--and the joke of it is, you know, aunty, mother takes her three
tubs a day all summer and never shakes hands in warm weather!"

I gasped.

"But, Will, this is awful! Why, we're all on the verge, if you look at
it that way!"

He shrugged and put out his hand to a heavy-faced, ordinary woman of
the well-groomed New York type.

"Good afternoon, Miss Vint--let me present you to my aunt, Mrs. Ba--oh,
come, now, aunty's a woman of the world and she's married, too.
There's no reason on earth why you shouldn't."

"But, doctor, you know what I am----"

"I know," he said kindly, and the real sympathy in his boy's eye