"I was dreaming," Ted said to his wife.

"And talking in your sleep."

"Was I?" He rose.

They went in to lunch.

It was probably an excellent meal; all of Ann's were. Ted didn't remember eating it; he kept seeing that pink background and the man with the rat. Mars? Undoubtedly. A dream? Well....

"That squirrel—" Mrs. Truesdale said.

"Squirrel?" Ted looked up hastily.

"He watches me dress. I've seen him, at the window. The one in the back yard, this morning."

"Pull the shade," Ted suggested.

"For a squirrel? Wouldn't I feel silly? It's so—so old maidish."

"That it is," Ted agreed. "I'll give it some thought this afternoon. Maybe something will come to me."

"Don't strain yourself dear," Ann said. "Didn't you get enough rest this morning?"

"I wasn't resting," Ted told her. "I was considering various investments in my mind. There are a lot of arguments against buying a ball club, all right. It's a headache."

Ann shook her head. Then, "The Garden Club meets this afternoon. You won't be needing the car?"

"Not today. Do you remember our honeymoon, Ann? Remember Honolulu?"

"How could I ever forget it, Ted?" Her eyes were reminiscent. "Those flowers, those beautiful hibiscus and—"

Ted poured another cup of coffee.

When Ann had left, and he went back to the porch, the blonde was just coming through the sliding glass door that led from her living room to the patio. The squirrel wasn't in sight.

The blonde looked up his way, and Ted smiled. He doubted if she could see a smile, at this distance, but it seemed presumptuous to wave.

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