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Page 48
"I could have understood, Rodman, if it had been Miss Dunlap. She is
clever, wonderful. But that Leblanc--never!"
Sybil Brainard turned to Constance.
"Miss Dunlap--Mrs. Dunlap," she sobbed, "forgive me. You--you are a
better woman than I am."
CHAPTER VI
THE CLAIRVOYANTS
"Do you believe in dreams?" Constance Dunlap looked searchingly at
her interrogator, as if her face or manner betrayed some new side of
her character.
Mrs. deForest Caswell was an attractive woman verging on forty, a
chance acquaintance at a shoppers' tea room downtown who had proved
to be an uptown neighbor.
"I have had some rather strange experiences, Mildred," confessed
Constance tentatively. "Why!"
"Because--" the other woman hesitated, then added, "why should I not
tell you! Last night, Constance, I had the strangest dream. It has
left such an impression on me that I can't shake it off, although I
have tried all day."
"Yes? Tell me about it."
Mildred Caswell paused a moment, then began slowly, as if not to
omit anything from her story.
"I dreamt that Forest was dying. I could see him, could see the
doctor and the nurse, everything. And yet somehow I could not get to
him. I was afraid, with such an oppressive fear. I tried--oh, how I
tried! I struggled, and how badly I felt!" and she shuddered at the
very recollection.
"There seemed to be a wall," she resumed, "a narrow wall in the way
and I couldn't get over it. As often as I tried, I fell. And then I
seemed to be pursued by some kind of animal, half bull, half snake.
I ran. It followed closely. I seemed to see a crowd of people and I
felt that if I could only get to that crowd, somehow I would be
safe, perhaps might even get over the wall and--I woke up--almost
screaming."
The woman's face was quite blanched.
"My dear," remonstrated Constance, "you must not take it so.
Remember--it was only a dream.
"I know it was only a dream," she said, "but you don't know what is
back of it."
Mildred Caswell had from time to time hinted to Constance of the
growing incompatibility of her married life, but as Constance was
getting used to confidences, she had kept silent, knowing that her
friend would tell her in time.
"You must have guessed," faltered Mrs. Caswell, "that Forest and I
are not--not on the best of terms, that we are getting further and
further apart."
It rather startled Constance to hear frankly stated what she already
had observed. She wondered how far the estrangement had gone. The
fact was that she had rather liked deForest Caswell, although she
had only met her friend's husband a few times. In fact she was
surprised that momentarily there flashed through her mind the query
as to whether Mildred herself might be altogether blameless in the
growing uncongeniality.
Mildred Caswell had drawn out of her chatelaine a bit of newspaper
and handed it to Constance, not as if it was of any importance to
herself but as if it would explain better than she could tell what
she meant.
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