Ethel stared at her for a moment, and her features were distorted in an awful grimace of fear. Her eyes were distended and blazing wildly. Her hands went up, claw-like, to push away what she saw.
“Go away.” Her voice was choked and guttural. “Go away and leave me alone. I know you! You’re Ocypete... the Harpy! Go away! You shan’t have my soul...” The last words were shrieked and little bubbles appeared at the corners of her mouth.
Barbara slapped her. Twice. With all her strength.
Ethel’s hands fell limply to her sides. Her features relaxed from the horrible grimace, and her eyes saw again.
“Oh,” she said vaguely.
“Come with me.” Barbara led her toward Frank’s car. Ethel did not resist. She followed submissively and silently.
“I’m sorry,” she said, making a pitiable attempt to smile. Then she recognized Frank’s car.
“I saw Frank,” she whispered. “He told me to take his car and drive it home. We’ll give it to him at the Brierly Ball to-night.”
“Can you drive?” Barbara asked briefly.
“No.” Ethel shuddered. “You drive,” she said hastily. “Just drive around for a while... then we’ll go home. I’ve got to get rid of this terrible thing and in some other clothes.” She glanced down at the crimson robe with loathing.
“Haven’t you anything beneath it?” Barbara asked practically as she slid into the seat behind the steering wheel and cautiously gave her attention to the unfamiliar actions necessary to put the car in motion.
“No,” Ethel said quietly. “Not a stitch beneath it.”
“Where are your clothes?” Barbara maneuvered the heavy car away from the cottage and turned into an unfrequented street leading north.
“Back... back there. This is... Sonia’s robe.” Ethel spoke with difficulty, seeming to force the words out.
“Tell me when to turn,” Barbara said evenly.
Ethel did not reply, and Barbara drove silently northward until the street crossed a highway leading weft. She turned into the stream of traffic on the highway and followed it slowly.
Ethel seemed sunk in a trance on the seat beside her. Barbara stole quick glances at her as she drove along, but asked her no questions. It seemed to her that she wanted to ask no questions. Perhaps she feared the answers Ethel would give. Perhaps it was merely a natural disinclination to probe into her friend’s secrets.
No matter the reason, she waited patiently for any revelations Ethel cared to make. She refused to let her mind dwell on the forces which had driven Ethel from the cottage. She would listen if Ethel cared to speak of them. But it didn’t seem to matter particularly. She had Sonia’s promise that Bob would be given back to her to-night. That was more important than anything else in the world. She felt tranquil and wholly at peace with the world.
“I... I suppose you think I’m crazy?” Ethel’s voice was anguished.
“I don’t think anything,” Barbara told her calmly.
“It’s... it’s all like a terrible dream!” Ethel shuddered and was silent.
“Don’t talk about it,” Barbara said. “Try and forget what happened. It’s over. Nothing can hurt you now. And it doesn’t matter.”
“I must forget it,” Ethel said determinedly. “I... I had no idea what I was letting myself in for. But I can’t forget it as long as I’m wearing this damned, shrieking costume.” She fingered the crimson material as though the mere touch of it aroused active aversion.
“That’s the first consideration,” Barbara admitted. “Don’t you have some friend where you could stop and borrow a dress or coat to wear home? You are... awfully conspicuous in that.”
“Oh yes. That’s... that’s what I’ll do.” Ethel brightened perceptibly at the thought of ridding herself of the garment. She sat up and looked around eagerly.
“Where are we?” she questioned slowly. “Oh, I know. Listen... Take the next turn to the left. Jane Leffingwell lives out here. She’ll lend me something to wear. Here! Turn to your left. I’m sure this is the street.”
Barbara turned the car into a side street and followed Ethel’s directions till they came to a rambling house surrounded by an orchard.
“This is it,” Ethel said. “Drive in the driveway right up to the garage. Jane’s a dear friend of mine, and even if she isn’t home her mother will let me in her room to borrow something.”
Barbara drove into the driveway and Ethel got out to enter a side door. She cut off the ignition and waited for her to return.
It was almost sundown, and it was very quiet and serene here at the Leffingwell home. The city and the frenzied festival of Mardi Gras seemed almost a mirage. Sonia, Frank, the white cottage, all seemed to fade away and become of little importance. Night was coming on. Mardi Gras would end. The Brierly Ball and Bob filled her thoughts.
She did not fear the outcome of the evening. Some hidden strength came to her aid as she might have faltered. She felt it was right that God should reunite Bob with her. If it was right in His eyes... it would be done.
She breathed a little prayer to a God who she felt was very close to her. It seemed He had guided her footsteps unerringly toward this end. Her lips curled in a little smile as she enlarged upon the fantasy. Perhaps it was absurd to see the hand of God in the swift march of events which had carried her along since coming to New Orleans.
It would have seemed preposterous to the Barbara of a week ago. But this was a new Barbara. Strengthened and assured. She had met her problem and conquered it. To-night she would conquer the larger problem of the future. Her future... and Bob’s.
She smiled whimsically at Ethel as she hurried from the side door to the car. Jane Leffingwell was evidently a large girl. A gingham frock was grotesquely swathed about Ethel. But her face was flushed with relief, and her eyes were bright.
“You drive,” Barbara said thankfully, slipping over to the other side of the seat. “I was frightened to death for fear I’d press the wrong thing when I was driving.”
“All right.” Ethel took the wheel competently. “What a blessed relief,” she breathed. “I felt that robe was strangling me, suffocating me. I told Jane to burn the damned thing,” she ended viciously.
Barbara smiled understandingly. There seemed no need for words. She leaned back against the seat happily as Ethel drove swiftly homeward.
“You don’t seem at all perturbed.” Ethel glanced at her curiously.
“I’m not,” Barbara admitted. “I don’t want to think about this afternoon. I want to forget what I saw when you reeled out of that awful place.”
“I’m afraid I’ll never forget,” Ethel shuddered. “But I’ve learned my lesson,” she went on. “A burnt child fears the fire. It’ll be a long time before I let myself in for anything like that again.”
“Let’s think about to-night,” Barbara prompted. “Sonia... promised to turn Bob over to me to-night at the Ball.”
“Sonia promised...?” Ethel gasped. She was silent for a moment. She wondered if Barbara knew Bob had been one of the votaries at the mystic shrine in the cottage.
“I was so glad he wasn’t there this afternoon,” Barbara went on pensively. “I don’t believe I could have stood that.”
“How did you find out he wasn’t there?”
“Sonia told me.”
“Oh.” Ethel bit her lip and was silent. Then she spoke with forced brightness. “Guess what? I found out something about Cousin Hattie that’ll send you into hysterics.”
“What? Tell me.”
“This takes the cake,” Ethel chuckled. “You remember what we overheard Sonia telling about her drinking the punch at the Dancing Dervish last night? And about the man who was with her? Talk about a scream! You’d never guess who it was in a thousand years.”