casts.

I am sure I do not belong in Class C, I _hope_ I belong in Class B, but I
am afraid--

* * * * *

I knew _They_ were waiting for me. Last night I heard Them again--after
the ball. It was a horrible night! I shall write to Dr. Owen that I must
see him at once.

CHAPTER III

A BOWL OF GOLD FISH

(_A letter from Penelope_)

_New York, February ----._

DEAR DR. OWEN:

Did you think I had vanished from the earth? I know I ought to have
reported to you a week ago, but--I fear Penelope Wells is an unreliable
person. Forgive me! I am in great distress.

I will say, first, that Atlantic City did me a lot of good. I came back
to town happier than I have been for months, in fact I was so encouraged
that I decided to amuse myself a little, as you advised. Last night I
went to a rather gay ball with some friends, and I was beginning to
think myself almost normal, when suddenly--alas!

I had a strange experience this morning that frightens me. I was sitting
at my desk writing a note when I glanced towards the window where there
is a bowl of gold fish, three beautiful fish and two snails. It amuses
me to watch them sometimes. Well, as I looked up, the sunshine was
flashing on the little darting creatures and I felt myself drawn to the
bowl, and for two or three minutes I stood there staring into it as if I
expected to see something. Then, presently I _did_ see something, I saw
myself inside the bowl--in a kind of vision. I saw myself just as
distinctly as I ever saw anything.

In order that you may understand this, doctor, I must explain that
Captain Herrick took me home from the ball. It was two o'clock in the
morning when we left the place and it had blown up cold during the rain,
so that the streets were a glare of ice and our taxi was skidding
horribly. When we got to Twelfth Street and Fifth Avenue there came a
frightful explosion; a gas main had taken fire and flames were shooting
twenty feet into the air. I was terrified, for it made me think of
Paris--the air raids, the night sirens, the long-distance cannon.
Captain Herrick saw that I was quite hysterical and said that I mustn't
think of going up to Eightieth Street. I must spend the night at his
studio in Washington Square, only a few doors away, and he would go to a
hotel. I agreed to this, for I was nearly frozen.

When we entered the studio I was surprised to find what a beautiful
place it was. It seems that