He said this soothingly and she seemed to understand that much depended upon her answers and the fact that she did not try to force her ideas.
"Tell me—of just what you are thinking," he pursued.
Dreamily she closed her eyes, as though allowing her thoughts to wander.
"I am thinking," she replied, slowly, still with her eyes closed, "of a time just after Vail and I were married."
She choked back the trace of a sob in her voice.
"It is a dream," she went on. "I seem to be alone, crossing the fields—it is at the country estate where we spent our honeymoon. I see a figure ahead of me. It is Vail. But each time that I get close to him—he has disappeared into the forest that skirts the field."
She stopped.
"Now—I see the figure—a figure—but—it is not Vail—no, it is another man—I do not know him—with another woman—not myself."
She had opened her eyes as though the day-dream was at an end, but before she finished the sentence she had deliberately closed them again.
From what I learned of the method of psychanalysis, I recalled that it was the gaps and hesitations which were considered most important in arriving at the truth regarding the cause of any nervous trouble.