the impression Sally's information had made had hardened her. She was
so disappointed in herself, so humiliated to find that a mortal may
fancy himself treading the upper altitudes, only to discover that the
baser forces in the brain are working independently of the will, that
she felt in anything but a melting mood. She knew that this mood would
pass; she had watched the workings of the brain, its abrupt
transitions and its reactions, too long to hope that she suddenly had
acquired great and enduring strength. The future had not expelled one
jot of its dangers, perhaps had supplemented them, but for the hour
she not only was safe from herself, but the necessity to turn him from
her door had receded one step.

She had intended to receive him in the large and formal environment of
the parlor, but in her present mood the boudoir was safe, and she was
glad not to disappoint him; she knew that he loved the room. And if
her brain had sobered, her femininity would endure unaltered for ever.
She wore a charming new gown of white crepe de chine flowing over a
blue petticoat, and a twist of blue in her hair. She had written to
him from New York when to call, and he had sent a large box of lilies
of the valley to greet her. She had arranged them in a bowl, and
wore only a spray at her throat. Women with beautiful figures seldom
care for the erratic lines and curves of the floral decoration. She
heard him coming down the corridor and caught her breath, but that was
all. She did not tremble nor change colour.

When he came in, he took both her hands and looked at her steadily for
a moment. They made no attempt at formal greeting, and there was no
need of subterfuge of any sort between them. No two mortals ever
understood each other better.