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."

"The retreat" was just off Longacre Square among quite a nest of
fakers. A queue of automobiles before the place testified, however, to
the prosperity of Madame Cassandra, as they entered the bronze grilled
plate glass door and turned on the first floor toward the home of the
Adept. Constance had an uncomfortable feeling as they entered of being
watched behind the shades of the apartment. Still, they had no trouble
in being admitted, and a soft-voiced colored attendant welcomed them.

The esoteric flat of Madame Cassandra was darkened except for the
electric lights glowing in amber and rose-colored shades. There were
several women there already. As they entered Constance had noticed a
peculiar, dreamy odor. There did not seem to be any hurry, any such
thing as time here, so skilfully was the place run. There was no noise;
the feet sank in half-inch piles of rugs, and easy-chairs and divans
were scattered about.

Once a puff of light smoke appeared, and Constance awoke to the fact
that some were smoking little delicately gold-banded cigare