"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.
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