It was “vision without eyes.”
Even then—on so small a base does one’s comfort behind the pipe sometimes depend—all would have been well had not Clara entered with the dish of fruit which is my method of telling the seasons; the winter orange and banana gradually giving way to the early berries which mark the spring, and so on. And with that Jane looked at the clock.
That glance was at once my downfall and my triumph. For it occurred to me then to make a simple experiment, and to “examine the facts.”
“Jane,” I argued, “rises by her bedroom clock every morning, and punctually to the minute. But Jane does not look at her clock. Then, if I set it forward one hour—?”
And set it forward one hour I did, after Jane was asleep. And at the moment its hands indicated seven-thirty, although it was
