She paused for breath, then turned slowly to Brainard with a note of pathos in her voice.

“Our temperaments may have been different, Rodman.  They were not when we were poor.  Perhaps I have not developed with you, the way you want of me.  But, Rodman, did you ever stop to think that perhaps, perhaps if I had ever had the chance to be taken into your confidence more often—­”

“Will you—­forgive me?” Brainard managed to blurt out.

“Will you forgive me?” she returned frankly.

“I—­forgive?  I have nothing to forgive.”

“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.