Thus, unknown to him and scarcely apprehended by herself, the fair Imogene was preparing for a Change. This was why the Appearance of Alonzo, the Wise Man, had not disturbed her more, and why she so quickly accepted him as a matter of course and adjusted herself to Orientalisms.
But now that her perceptions were sharpened, the lady could not but perceive the primordial relation between herself and the once despised Mystic. She also was forced to cognize the enormous advantage of astral attainments over physical conditions and physical powers. She began to draw odious comparisons and invidious distinctions between her lawful master and her extra-lawful mate.
“Fool, and blind,”—she now murmured, from time to time, in just the same tone and with the same wild, back-handed gesture she had seen at the Chicago Opera House.
And the Gnani, day by day, murmured to his Higher Self,—“She is advancing beautifully.” He noted the sweet trustfulness with which she now leaned upon him—that is, philosophically speaking.
“She now Aspires from choice”—he would whisper to himself again and again. “She will lop off several reincarnations, while I—aha! ha ha!”—and his gaseous form would undulate with ethereal ecstasy.
In that astral realm where thoughts are things and business is transacted by mental checks, the inhabitants have distinct advantages over mere human beings who are circumscribed by purveyors of goods and settlements on a cash basis.
The learned Mystic quite obscured the Mayor of Kankakee. He covered him with humiliation at his own fireside. He trifled with the husband’s prerogatives. For, did the good-natured Bill, thinking to propitiate her on the old lines, send home to Imogene a Paris model from the swell modiste, then did his skillful rival at once materialize for her another headgear out of nothing, a “dream” so unique, so gorgeous, so becoming and so altogether stunning, that Imogene would shriek with delight, while Bill could only grind his teeth in rage.
Did the husband bring to his wife a bunch of early violets, the vigilant Gnani would immediately materialize great loads of American beauties towering upon extraordinary stems. He would shower her with Marechal Niels, worth a dollar apiece. With but one sweep of his hand a hundred rare blossoms would descend from the ceiling, covering and enveloping the lady in beauty and bloom.
Could any mere, mortal woman withstand such attentions as these?