"Tell her I don't want her this morning, Reginald! Send her away, will you? She mustn't see me--yet."
"But my--your--this hair, Caroline? How'll I get it up without Suzanne's help?"
"I'll do it for you," answered Caroline, in a voice that sounded like a despairing moan.
"Look at those hands--my hands, Caroline! You can't dress hair with them. Take my word for that."
Suzanne rapped again, thinking, doubtless, that we were still asleep.
"I'll be there directly, Suzanne," cried Caroline, in my voice.
We turned cold with consternation. What would Suzanne think of this? My reputation in my own household had been jeopardized on the instant.
"Caroline! Caroline! You must pull yourself together!" I whispered. "Have courage, and do keep your wits about you! Act like a man, will you? Keep quiet, now. I'll speak to Suzanne."
With a courage begotten by desperation, I sat erect. Fear and hope had been at war within me as, for the first time since I had awakened, I changed my posture. I had dreaded the uncanny sensation that would spring from further proof that I was really imprisoned in my wife's body. But I had clung to a shred of hope. It might be that Caroline and I in motion would find the psychical readjustment that had been denied to us in repose. I was instantly undeceived. As I sat up in bed, Caroline's luxuriant dark tresses fell over my shoulders and I looked down at a lock of hair that lay black against my tapering white fingers. A wave of physical well-being swept over me, and, despite the horror of my situation, my heart beat with a great joy in life. The blood came into my well-rounded cheeks, as I recalled Caroline's recent request for a cocktail. What a shame it was that a big, healthy man should want a stimulant early in the day!
"Suzanne!" I cried. "Suzanne, are you still there?"