"You know I have always respected women, and this woman was more to me than anything--she's the woman I want for my wife, so you see I would be the last man in the world to show her disrespect, but--" the young fellow flushed--"as I looked at her there on the divan--so beautiful--I longed to hold her in my arms and I said to myself that, even if she was tricking me, it was quite a pleasing trick--if she could stand it, I could--so I--I kissed her some more. I begged her to speak to me, to respond to me, to tell me she returned my love and would be my wife; but she didn't answer, didn't move, or speak, she didn't even open her eyes, and presently I was filled with a horrible sense of shame. I felt like a thief in the night, stealing caresses that were not meant for me or willingly given. I realized that something terrible must have happened to Penelope, although she looked so calm and beautiful.

"And now my only thought was to call for help. I hurried into the next room and tried to get you on the telephone, but they said you were at the hospital and could not be reached for an hour. Then I rushed back to the studio and, as soon as I came in, I could scarcely believe my eyes but there was Penelope standing in front of the fireplace, just as I had left her the first time. She was looking at the blazing logs with a thoughtful expression and when I came close to her, she faced me naturally and pleasantly as if nothing had happened.

"You can imagine my astonishment, I could not speak, but--I was so relieved to find her recovered that I put my arm around her affectionately and just touched my lips to her cheek. Heavens! You should have seen her then. She sprang away from me indignant. How dared I take such a liberty? Had she not reproved me already? It was incredible that a man who professed to care for her, a gentleman, should be so lacking in delicacy. And before I could do anything or explain anything, she had dashed out into the night alone, refusing even to let me walk beside her. Now then," Christopher concluded, "what do you make of that?"

"Strange!" nodded the doctor, "very strange. And in spite of this she came to see you again?"

"Yes, two evenings later, without any warning, she burst into my studio about nine o'clock."

"In a red dress?"

"Yes."

"And a black hat?"

"Yes."

"Good Lord, it's true!" muttered Owen. "Go on, my boy. I want the details. This may be exceedingly important. Go right through the scene from the beginning."

After a moment of perplexed silence, Christopher continued: "When I say she burst in, that about expresses it. She was like a whirlwind, a red, laughing, fascinating whirlwind. I had never seen her half so beautiful--so alluring. I was mad about her and--half afraid of her."

"Hm!" grunted Owen. "What did she do?"

"Do? She did a lot of things. In the first place she apologized for having been so silly the time before--after the ball. She said she was ill then, she didn't want to talk about it. Now she had come to make amends--that was the idea."

"I see. Well?"

"Well, we sat before the fire and she asked me to make her a c.o.c.ktail.

She said she had had the blues and she wanted to be gay. So I mixed some c.o.c.ktails and she took two, and she certainly was gay. I didn't know Penelope drank c.o.c.ktails, but of course it was all right--lots of women do. Then she wanted to sit on the divan and she bolstered me up with pillows. She said she liked divans. I hate to tell you all this, sir."

"Go on, Chris."

"Pretty soon she wanted a cigarette and she began to blow smoke in my face, laughing and fooling and--finally she put her lips up so temptingly for another light that I ... I'll never forget how she bent over me and held my face between her two hands and kissed me slowly with a little sideways movement and told me to call her Fauvette--not Penelope. She said she hated the name Penelope. 'Call me Fauvette,' she said. 'I am your Fauvette, all yours.'"

"Extraordinary! This was the woman who had been furious with you only two nights before for daring to kiss her once?"

"Yes, sir. Now she was a siren, a wonderful, lithe creature, clinging to me. I almost lost control of myself. Once I caught her sharply by the shoulder--I tore her dress...."

Christopher stopped as the power of these memories overcame him. He covered his eyes with one hand, while the other clutched the chair arm.

The doctor waited.

"Well, sir," the young man resumed, "I don't know how I came through that night without dishonor, but I did. There was a moment of madness, then suddenly, distinctly, like a gentle bell I heard a voice inside me, a sort of spiritual voice saying two words that changed everything.

'_Your wife!_' That is what she was to be, my wife! I loved her. I must defend her against herself, against myself. And I did. I got her out of that place--somehow. I got her home--somehow. I have been through several battles, doctor, but this one was the hardest."

Captain Herrick drew a long sigh and sat silent.

"What's the answer, doctor?" he asked presently.

"I don't know, Chris. Upon my soul, I don't know."

CHAPTER VI

EARTH-BOUND

(_From Penelope's Diary_)

_Tuesday Night._

Heaven help me! I have heard the words that sound my doom. I saw Dr.

Owen this morning. It is all true--my dream, and what I saw myself do in the bowl of goldfish. True! I did those incredible things. I wore my red dress and my black hat. I went to Captain Herrick's studio. I lay down on the divan--everything is true. Oh, G.o.d, this is too horrible! How can I ever face Christopher again? I wish I could die!

Dr. Owen questioned me about the name Fauvette--why did I ask Christopher to call me Fauvette? I have no idea. I hate and despise that name. It brings up memories that I wish might be forever blotted out of my mind. That was the name Julian used to call me when he had been drinking. He would pretend that I was another person, Fauvette, and sometimes Fauvette would do things that I refused to do. Fauvette would yield to his over-powering physical charm and would say dreadful things, would enter into his mood and become just the sort of animal creature that he wanted. It was like a madness.

_Wednesday morning._

I cried my eyes out last night and lay awake for hours thinking about my unhappy life. All my pride and hopes have come to this--an irresponsible mind. It makes no difference whether the cause is sh.e.l.l shock or something else, the fact remains that my mind does not work properly--I do things without knowing or remembering what I do. I am sure I cannot live long--what have I to live for? I have made a will leaving my little fortune to Chris--he will never know how much I care for him--and my jewelry to Seraphine, except my silly thumb ring, which is for Roberta Vallis. She loves it.

This afternoon _They_ came again. _They_ never were so bad. I was walking down Fifth Avenue and, as I reached the cathedral, I thought I would go in and say my prayers. I love the soft lights and the smell of incense, but just at the door _They_ began insulting me.

"Little fool! Little fool! She is going to say her prayers. Ha, ha!"

They laughed.

I knelt down and breathed an old benediction, shutting my ears against the Voices:

"_The peace of G.o.d which pa.s.seth all understanding--_"

"Fauvette! Fauvette!" _They_ mocked me.

"_Keep your hearts and minds in the knowledge and love of G.o.d--_"

"She's a pretty little devil. I like her mouth."

"_And of his son, Jesus Christ our Lord--_"

"Red dress! Red dress! Divan! Divan!"

"_And the blessing of G.o.d Almighty, the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost--_"

"She can't remember it. She's thinking of her lover. She wants to kiss her lover." Then _They_ said gross things and I could not go on. I got up from my knees, heartbroken, and came away.