“Not yet. I have asked him to dine with me this evening.”
Penelope sighed wearily and twined her fingers together in nervous agitation.
“It's all so distressing. I can't understand it. Why did I see myself in that bowl of gold fish, so distinctly? Tell me—why?”
“You mustn't take that seriously, Mrs. Wells. These crystal visions are common enough—the books are full of them. It's a phenomenon of self-hypnotism. You are in a broken-down nervous condition after months of excessive strain—that's all, and these hallucinations result, just as colored shapes and patterns appear when you shut your eyes tight and press your fingers against the eye-balls.”
This did not satisfy her. “What I want to know is whether there is any possibility that I really did what I saw myself do in that vision? Do you think there is?”
“Certainly not. I believe you did exactly what you tell me you did—you spent a few minutes in Christopher's studio and then came away angry because he kissed you. By the way, I don't see why one kiss from a man who loves you and has asked you to marry him should have offended you so terribly, especially when you admit that you care for him?”
His tone was one of good-humored indulgence for capricious beauty, but Mrs. Wells kept to her seriousness.
“I didn't mean that I was really angry with Captain Herrick. I was angry at myself for the thrill of joy I felt when he kissed me and I was frightened by the wave of emotion that swept over me. I have been frightened all these days—even now!” She covered her eyes with her hand as if shrinking from some painful memory.
“Please don't agitate yourself. You must not get hysterical about this. You must have confidence in me and in your own powers of recuperation. And you must be sure to give me all the facts. Did I understand you to say that something else has happened—since you wrote me?”
“Yes, something quite unbelievable—it happened last night.”