he conflict developed between tortured Penelope and the psychic in
Roberta Vallis' studio.

For some moments the two women eyed each other in hostile silence, which
was broken presently by the sound of footsteps in the hall.

"Ah! Here comes your doctor!" mocked the fair creature on the divan.
"Now watch Fauvette!"

The door opened and Dr. Owen, followed by Herrick, both grave-faced,
entered the apartment.

Christopher turned anxiously to Seraphine: "What has happened? Is she
better?"

Mrs. Walters shook her head, but when the young officer looked at
Penelope his fears were lessened, for she (was it from dissimulation or
weariness?) gave no indication of her recent frenzy, but seemed to be
resting peacefully against the cushions.

"Let's have a little more light here," said Dr. Owen, and he turned on
the electrics. "I'm afraid you have overtaxed your strength, Mrs.
Wells."

Penelope answered gently with perfect self-possession: "I'm afraid I
have, doctor, I'm sorry to give you so much trouble." And she smiled
sweetly at Herrick.

The specialist drew up a chair and studied his patient thoughtfully.
There was an added austerity in his usual professional manner.

"Captain Herrick tells me that you made some rather strange remarks just
now?" he said tentatively.

Mrs. Wells met him with a look of half amused understanding.

"Did I?" she answered carelessly, and as she spoke she took up a pencil
and made formless scrawls on a sheet of paper. "I suppose he refers to
my calling him a fool. It is a little unusual, isn't it?"

She laughed in a mirthless way.

"Why did you do it?"

"I haven't any idea."

"And you spoke unkindly to Seraphine? That isn't like you."

"No? How do you know what I am like?" she answered quickly, her hand
still fidgeting with the pencil.

Dr. Owen observed her attentively and did not speak for some moments.
Seraphine and Christopher drew their chairs nearer, as if they knew that
the tension of restraint was about to break.

"You must realize that you have been under a great strain, Mrs. Wells,"
resumed the doctor, "and you are tired--you are very tired."

Her answer came dreamily, absent-mindedly: "Yes, I am tired," and, as
she spoke, Penelope's tragic eyes closed wearily. But her fingers still
clutched the pencil and continued to move it over the white sheet.

"Look!" whispered Seraphine, "she is making letters upside down."

"That's queer!" nodded Owen. "She is writing backw