wig of glorious chestnut hair
from his head--just lifted it for an instant, and dropped it. The man
was utterly and completely bald.

III

Vera did nothing foolish. She neither cried, screamed, turned deadly
pale, clenched her fragile hands, bit her lips till the blood came,
smashed a wine-glass, nor fell with a dull thud senseless to the floor.
Nevertheless, she was extremely perturbed by this astounding revelation
of Mr Bittenger's. Of course, dreams are nonsense. But still--The truth
is, one tries to believe that dreams are nonsense, and up to a certain
point one may succeed in believing. But it seemed to Vera that
circumstances had passed that point. She could not but admit, also,
that if the dream went on being fulfilled, within forty-eight hours Mr
Bittenger would have made love to her, and would have killed her
husband.

She was so incensed against Stephen that she really could not decide
whether she wanted the dream to be fulfilled or not. No one would have
imagined that that soft breast could conceal a homicidal thought. Yet
so it was. That pretty and delightful woman, wandering about in the
edifice of her terrific grievance against Stephen, could not say
positively to herself that she would not care to have Stephen killed as
a punishment for his sins.

After dinner, she found an excuse for retiring. She must think the
puzzle out in solitude. Matters were really going too far. She allowed
it to be understood that she was indisposed. Mr Bittenger was full of
sorrow and sympathy. But did Stephen show the slightest concern?
Stephen did not. She went upstairs, and she meditated, stretched on the
sofa at the foot of the bed, a rug over her knees and the fire glinting
on her face. Yes, it was her duty as a Christian, if not as an outraged
wife, to warn Stephen that the shadow of death was creeping up behind
him. He ought at least to be warned. But how could she warn him?
Clearly she could not warn him in the presence of Mr Bittenger, the
prospective murderer. She would, therefore, have to warn him when they
were alone. And that meant that she would have to give way in the great
conjugal sulking match. No, never! It was impossible that she should
give way there! She frowned desperately at the leaping flames, and did
ultimately decide that Stephen's death was preferable to her defeat in
that contest. Of such is human nature.

After all, dreams were nonsense.

Surely Stephen would come upstairs to inqui