FullReads

“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.

“You must have guessed,” faltered Mrs. Caswell, “that Forest and I are not–not on the best of terms, that we are getting further and further apart.”

It rather startled Constance to hear frankly stated what she already had observed. She wondered how far the estrangement had gone. The fact was that she had rather liked deForest Caswell, although she had only met her friend’s husband a few times. In fact she was surprised that momentarily there flashed through her mind the query as to whether Mildred herself might be altogether blameless in the growing uncongeniality.

Mildred Caswell had drawn out of her chatelaine a bit of newspaper and handed it to Constance, not as if it was of any importance to herself but as if it would explain better than she could tell what she meant.

Constance read:

MME. CASSANDRA,
THE VEILED PROPHETESS

Born with a double veil, educated in occult mysteries in Egypt and India. Without asking a question, tells your name and reads your secret troubles and the remedy. Reads your dreams. Great questions of life quickly solved. Failure turned to success, the separated brought together, advice on all affairs of life, love, marriage, divorce, business, speculation, and investments. Overcomes all evil influences. Ever ready to help and advise those with capital to find a safe and paying investment. No fee until it succeeds. Could anything be fairer?

THE RETREAT,
—W. 47th Street.

“Won’t you come with me to Madame Cassandra?” asked Mrs. Caswell, as Constance finished reading. “She always seems to do me so much good.”

“Who is Madame Cassandra?” asked Constance, rereading the last part of the advertisement.

“I suppose you would call her a dream doctor,” said Mildred.

It was a new idea to Constance, this of a dream doctor to settle the affairs of life. Only a moment she hesitated, then she answered simply, “Yes, I’ll go.”