were afraid. She said it meant love
was dead. It did not. The fact is that neurotic fear in a woman has its
origin in repressed, unsatisfied love, love which for one reason or
another is turned away from its object and has not succeeded in being
applied. Then his death. That simply means that you have a feeling that
you might be happier if he were away and didn't devil you. It is a
survival of childhood, when death is synonymous with absence. I know
you don't believe it. But if you had studied the subject as I have in
the last few days you'd understand. Madame Cassandra understands.

"And the wall. That was Wall Street, probably, which does divide you
two. You tried to get over it and you fell. That means your fear of
actually falling, morally, of being a fallen woman."

Mildred was staring wildly. She might deny but in her heart she must
admit.

"The thing that pursued you, half bull, half snake, was Davies and his
blandishments. I have seen him. I know what he is. The crowd in a dream
always denotes a secret. He is pursuing you, as in the dream. But he
hasn't caught you. He thinks there is in you the same wild demimondaine
instinct that with many an ardent woman, slumbers unknown in the back
of her mind.

"Whatever you may say, you do think of him. When a woman dreams of
breakfasting cozily with some one other than her husband it has an
obvious meaning. As for the messenger and the message about the United
Traction, there, too, was a plain wish, and, as you must see, wishes in
one form or another, disguised or distorted, lie at the basis of
dreams. Take the coal fire. That, too, is susceptible of
interpretation. I think you must have heard the couplet:

"'No coal, no fire so hotly glows As the secret love that no one
knows.'"

Mildred Caswell had risen, an indignant flush on her face.

Constance put her hand on her arm gently to restrain her, knowing that
such indignation was the first sign that she had struck at the core of
truth in her interpretation.

"My dear," she urged, "I'm only telling you the truth, for your own
sake, and not to take advantage of you as Madame Cassandra is doing.
Please--remember that the best evidence of your normal condition is
just what I find, that absence of love would be abnormal. My dear, you
are what the psychologists call a consciously frigid, unconsciously
passionate woman. Consciously you reject this Davies; unconsciously you
accept him. And it is the more dangerous, alt