realized
the queerness of this drive--"Mr. Sheridan, I--"

The coupe stopped. "You, JOE!" said the driver, reproachfully, and
climbed down and opened the door.

"What's the trouble?" Bibbs inquired.

"Lady said stop at the first house north of Mr. Sheridan's, sir."

Mary was incredulous; she felt that it couldn't be true and that it
mustn't be true that they had driven all the way without speaking.

"What?" Bibbs demanded.

"We're there, sir," said the driver, sympathetically. "Next house north
of Mr. Sheridan's."

Bibbs descended to the curb. "Why, yes," he said. "Yes, you seem to
be right." And while he stood staring at the dimly illuminated front
windows of Mr. Vertrees's house Mary got out, unassisted.

"Let me help you," said Bibbs, stepping toward her mechanically; and she
was several feet from the coupe when he spoke.

"Oh no," she murmured. "I think I can--" She meant that she could get
out of the coupe without help, but, perceiving that she had already
accomplished this feat, she decided not to complete the sentence.

"You, JOE!" cried the driver, angrily, climbing to his box. And he
rumbled away at his team's best pace--a snail's.

"Thank you for bringing me home, Mr. Sheridan," said Mary, stiffly. She
did not offer her hand. "Good night."

"Good night," Bibbs said in response, and, turning with her, walked
beside her to the door. Mary made that a short walk; she almost ran.
Realization of the queerness of their drive was growing upon her,
beginning to shock her; she stepped aside from the light that fell
through the glass panels of the door and withheld her hand as it touched
the old-fashioned bell-handle.

"I'm quite safe, thank you," she said, with a little emphasis. "Good
night."

"Good night," said Bibbs, and went obediently. When he reached the
street he looked back, but she had vanished within the house.

Moving slowly away, he caromed against two people who were turning out
from the pavement to cross the street. They were Roscoe and his wife.

"Where are your eyes, Bibbs?" demanded Roscoe. "Sleep-walking, as
usual?"

But Sibyl took the wanderer by the arm. "Come over to our house for a
little while, Bibbs," she urged. "I want to--"

"No, I'd better--"

"Yes. I want you to. Your father's gone to bed, and they're all quiet
over there--all worn out. Just come for a minute."

He yielded, and when they were in the house she repeated herself with
real feeling: "'All worn out!' Well