ttes. Indeed
it was all quite recherche.

Mrs. Caswell took one from a maid. So did Constance, but after a puff
or two managed to put it out and later to secure another which she kept.

Madame Cassandra herself proved to be a tall, slender, pale woman with
dark hair and a magnetic eye, an eye that probably accounted more than
anything else for her success. She was clad in a house gown of purplish
silk which clung tightly to her, and at her throat a diamond pendant
sparkled, as well as other brilliants on her long, slender fingers.

She met Mildred and Constance with outstretched hands.

"So glad to see you, my dears," purred Madame, leading the way into an
inner sanctum.

Mrs. Caswell had seated herself with the air of one who worshiped at
the shrine, while Constance gazed about curiously.

"Madame," she began a little tremulously, "I have had another of those
dreadful dreams."

"You poor dear soul," soothed Madame, stroking her hand. "Tell me of
it--all."

Quickly Mrs. Caswell poured forth her story as she had already told it
to Constance.

"My dear Mrs. Caswell," remarked the high priestess slowly, when the
story was complete, "it is all very simple. His love is dead. That is
what you fear and it is the truth. The wall is the wall that he has
erected against you. Try to forget it--to forget him. You would be
better off. There are other things in the world--"

"Ah, but I cannot live as I am used to without money," murmured Mrs.
Caswell.

"I know," replied Madame. "It is that that keeps many a woman with a
brute. When financial and economic independence come, then woman will
be free and only then. Now, listen. Would you like to be
free--financially? You remember that delightful Mr. Davies who has been
here? Yes? Well, he is a regular client of mine, now. He is a broker
and never embarks in any enterprise without first consulting me. Just
the other day I read his fortune in United Traction. It has gone up
five points already and will go fifteen more. If you want, I will give
you a card to him. Let me see--yes, I can do that. You too will be
lucky in speculation."

Constance, with one ear open, had been busy looking about the room. In
a bookcase she saw a number of books and paused to examine their
titles. She was surprised to see among the old style dream books
several works on modern psychology, particularly on the interpretation
of dreams.

"Of course, Mrs. Caswell, I don't want to urge you," Madame w