most intimately. Dreams are personal. We never dream about matters
that really concern others, but ourselves.

"Years ago," he continued, "you suffered what the new
psychologists call a 'psychic trauma'--a soul-wound. You were
engaged, but your censored consciousness rejected the manner of
life of your fiance. In pique you married Price Maitland. But you
never lost your real, subconscious love for another."

He stopped, then added in a low tone that was almost inaudible,
yet which did not call for an answer, "Could you--be honest with
yourself, for you need say not a word aloud--could you always be
sure of yourself in the face of any situation?"

She looked startled. Her ordinarily inscrutable face betrayed
everything, though it was averted from the rest of us and could be
seen only by Kennedy. She knew the truth that she strove to
repress; she was afraid of herself.

"It is dangerous," she murmured, "to be with a person who pays
attention to such little things. If every one were like you, I
would no longer breathe a syllable of my dreams."

She was sobbing now.

What was back of it all? I had heard of the so-called resolution
dreams. I had heard of dreams that kill, of unconscious murder, of
the terrible acts of the subconscious somnambulist of which the
actor has no recollection in the waking state until put under
hypnotism. Was it that which Kennedy was driving at disclosing?