She walked in briskly, a middle-aged capable-looking woman, holding a broom, and glanced all round the room in a purposeful way. Among the things she looked at was me, but to my utter astonishment she paid no more attention than if I had been a piece of furniture. For a moment I thought she was blind; but her sharp glances clearly came from no sightless eyes. Then I wondered whether she could have such a horrible squint that when she seemed to look at me she was really looking in another direction. But I could see no sign of a cast in those eyes either. And then she picked up an armful of small articles and walked quickly out, leaving the door wide open. What had saved me I had no idea, but I was resolved not to trust to that curtain any longer. In the middle of the room was a square table of moderate size with a cloth over it. Without stopping to think twice, I dived under the cloth and crouched upon the floor. The next instant in she came again, and I found that my table-cloth was so scanty that I could follow her movements perfectly. She took some more things out, and then more again, and finally she proceeded to set the furniture piece by piece back against the wall, till the table was left lonely and horribly conspicuous in the middle of the floor. And then she began to sweep out that room. There was small scope for an exhibition of resource, but I was as resourceful as I was able. I very gently pulled the scanty table-cloth first in one direction and then in the other, according to the side of the room she was sweeping, and as noiselessly as possible I crept a foot or two farther away from her each time. And all the while the dust rose in clouds, and the hateful broom came so near me that it sometimes brushed my boots. And yet the extraordinary woman never showed by a single sign that she had any suspicion of my presence! At last when the whole floor had been swept--except of course under the table--she paused, and from the glimpse I could get of her attitude she seemed to be ruminating. And then she stooped, lifted the edge of the cloth, and said in an absolutely matter-of-fact voice-- "Will you not better get out till I'm through with my sweeping?" Too utterly bewildered to speak, I crept out and rose to my feet. "You can get under the table again when I'm finished," she observed as she pulled off the cloth. To such an observation there seemed no adequate reply, or at least I could think of none. I turned in silence and hurried back to my bedroom. And there I sat for a space too dumfounded for coherent thought.