The Ideal

here."

  I don't know exactly what I expected, but I do know that the breath leftme as the girl entered. She wasn't exactly my image of the ideal, ofcourse; she was perhaps the merest trifle slimmer, and her eyes--well,they must have been much like those of de Lisle d'Agrion, for they werethe clearest emerald I've ever seen. They were impudently direct eyes,and I could imagine why van Manderpootz and the Dragon Fly might havebeen forever quarreling; that was easy to imagine, looking into the eyesof the Dragon Fly's daughter.

  Nor was Denise, apparently, quite as femininely modest as my image ofperfection. She wore the extremely unconcealing costume of the day,which covered, I suppose, about as much of her as one of the one-pieceswimming suits of the middle years of the twentieth century. She gave animpression, not so much of fleeting grace as of litheness and supplestrength, an air of independence, frankness, and--I say itagain--impudence.

  "Well!" she said coolly as van Manderpootz presented me. "So you're thescion of the N. J. Wells Corporation. Every now and then your escapadesenliven the Paris Sunday supplements. Wasn't it you who snared a milliondollars in the market so you could ask Whimsy White--?"

  I flushed. "That was greatly exaggerated," I said hastily, "and anyway Ilost it before we--uh--before I--"

  "Not before you made somewhat of a fool of yourself, I believe," shefinished sweetly.

  Well, that's the sort she was. If she hadn't been so infernally lovely,if she hadn't looked so much like the face in the mirror, I'd haveflared up, said "Pleased to have met you," and never have seen heragain. But I couldn't get angry, not when she had the dusky hair, theperfect lips, the saucy nose of the being who to me was ideal.

  So I did see her again, and several times again. In fact, I suppose Ioccupied most of her time between the few literary courses she wastaking, and little by little I began to see that in other respectsbesides the physical she was not so far from my ideal. Beneath herimpudence was honesty, and frankness, and, despite herself, sweetness,so that even allowing for the head-start I'd had, I fell in love prettyhastily. And what's more, I knew she was beginning to reciprocate.

  That was the situation when I called for her one noon and took her overto van Manderpootz's laboratory. We were to lunch with him at theUniversity Club, but we found him occupied in directing some experimentin the big laboratory beyond his personal one, untangling some sort ofmess that his staff had blundered into. So Denise and I wandered backinto the smaller room, perfectly content to be alone together. I simplycouldn't feel hungry in her presence; just talking to her was enough ofa substitute for food.

  "I'm going to be a good writer," she was saying musingly. "Some day,Dick, I'm going to be famous."

  Well, everyone knows how correct that prediction was. I agreed with herinstantly.

  She smiled. "You're nice, Dick," she said. "Very nice."

  "Very?"

  "_Very!_" she said emphatically. Then her green eyes strayed over to thetable that held the idealizator. "What crack-brained contraption ofUncle Haskel's is that?" she asked.

  I explained, rather inaccurately, I'm afraid, but no ordinary engineercan follow the ramifications of a van Manderpootz conception.Nevertheless, Denise caught the gist of it and her eyes glowed emeraldfire.

  "It's fascinating!" she exclaimed. She rose and moved over to the table."I'm going to try it."

  "Not without the professor, you won't! It might be dangerous."

  That was the wrong thing to say. The green eyes glowed brighter as shecast me a whimsical glance. "But I am," she said. "Dick, I'm goingto--see my ideal man!" She laughed softly.

  I was panicky. Suppose her ideal turned out tall and dark and powerful,instead of short and sandy-haired and a bit--well, chubby, as I am."No!" I said vehemently. "I won't let you!"

  She laughed again. I suppose she read my consternation, for she saidsoftly, "Don't be silly, Dick." She sat down, placed her face againstthe opening of the barrel, and commanded. "Turn it on."

  I couldn't refuse her. I set the mirror whirling, then switched on thebank of tubes. Then immediately I stepped behind her, squinting intowhat was visible of the flashing mirror, where a face was forming,slowly--vaguely.

  I thrilled. Surely the hair of the image was sandy. I even fancied nowthat I could trace a resemblance to my own features. Perhaps Denisesensed something similar, for she suddenly withdrew her eyes from thetube and looked up with a faintly embarrassed flush, a thing mostunusual for her.

  "Ideals are dull!" she said. "I want a real thrill. Do you know what I'mgoing to see? I'm going to visualize ideal horror. That's what I'll do.I'm going to see absolute horror!"

  "Oh, no you're not!" I gasped. "That's a terribly dangerous idea." Offin the other room I heard the voice of van Manderpootz, "Dixon!"

  "Dangerous--bosh!" Denise retorted. "I'm a writer, Dick. All this meansto me is material. It's just experience, and I want it."

  Van Manderpootz again. "Dixon! Dixon! Come here." I said, "Listen,Denise. I'll be right back. Don't try anything until I'm here--please!"

  I dashed into the big laboratory. Van Manderpootz was facing a cowedgroup of assistants, quite apparently in extreme awe of the great man.

  "Hah, Dixon!" he rasped. "Tell these fools what an Emmerich valve is,and why it won't operate in a free electronic stream. Let 'em see thateven an ordinary engineer knows that much."

  Well, an ordinary engineer doesn't, but it happened that I did. Not thatI'm particularly exceptional as an engineer, but I _did_ happen to knowthat because a year or two before I'd done some work on the big tidalturbines up in Maine, where they have to use Emmerich valves to guardagainst electrical leakage from the tremendous potentials in theircondensers. So I started explaining, and van Manderpootz keptinterpolating sarcasms about his staff, and when I finally finished, Isuppose I'd been in there about half an hour. And then--I rememberedDenise!

  I left van Manderpootz staring as I rushed back, and sure enough, therewas the girl with her face pressed against the barrel, and her handsgripping the table edge. Her features were hidden, of course, but therewas something about her strained position, her white knuckles--

  "Denise!" I yelled. "Are you all right? _Denise!_"

  She didn't move. I stuck my face in between the mirror and the end ofthe barrel and peered up the tube at her visage, and what I saw left meall but stunned. Have you ever seen stark, mad, infinite terror on ahuman face? That was what I saw in Denise's--inexpressible, unbearablehorror, worse than the fear of death could ever be. Her green eyes werewidened so that the whites showed around them; her perfect lips werecontorted, her whole face strained into a mask of sheer terror.

  I rushed for the switch, but in passing I caught a single glimpse of--ofwhat showed in the mirror. Incredible! Obscene, terror-laden, horrifyingthings--there just aren't words for them. There are no words.

  Denise didn't move as the tubes darkened. I raised her face from thebarrel and when she glimpsed me she moved. She flung herself out of thatchair and away, facing me with such mad terror that I halted.

  "Denise!" I cried. "It's just Dick. Look, Denise!"

  But as I moved toward her, she uttered a choking scream, her eyesdulled, her knees gave, and she fainted. Whatever she had seen, it musthave been appalling to the uttermost, for Denise was not the sort tofaint.

  * * * * *

  It was a week later that I sat facing van Manderpootz in his littleinner office. The grey metal figure of Isaak was missing, and the tablethat had held the idealizator was empty.

  "Yes," said van Manderpootz. "I've dismantled it. One of vanManderpootz's few mistakes was to leave it around where a pair ofincompetents like you and Denise could get to it. It seems that Icontinually overestimate the intelligence of others. I suppose I tend tojudge them by the brain of van Manderpootz."

  I said nothing. I was thoroughly disheartened and depressed, andwhatever the professor said about my lack of intelligence, I felt itjustified.

  "Hereafter," resumed van Manderpootz, "I shall credit no
body exceptmyself with intelligence, and will doubtless be much more nearlycorrect." He waved a hand at Isaak's vacant corner. "Not even the Baconhead," he continued. "I've abandoned that project, because, when youcome right down to it, what need has the world of a mechanical brainwhen it already has that of van Manderpootz?"

  "Professor," I burst out suddenly, "why won't they let me see Denise?I've been at the hospital every day, and they let me into her room justonce--just once, and