He tapped at the door, which was opened, disclosing an interior tastefully furnished.

Doctor Burr introduced us to Miss Giles, conveying the impression, which Kennedy had already given, that he was a specialist, and I his assistant.

Janet Cranston was a young and also remarkably beautiful girl.  One could see traces of sorrow in her face, which was exceedingly, though not unpleasingly, pale.  The restless brilliancy of her eyes spoke of some physical, if not psychical, disorder.  She was dressed in deep mourning, which heightened her pallor and excited a feeling of mingled respect and interest.  Thick brown coils of chestnut hair were arranged in such a manner as to give an extremely youthful appearance to her delicate face.  Her emotions were expressed by the constant motion of her slender fingers.

Miss Giles was a striking woman of an entirely different type.  She seemed to be exuberant with health, as though nursing had taught her not merely how to take care of others, but had given her the secret of caring, first of all, for herself.

I could see, as Doctor Burr introduced us to his patient, that Mrs. Cranston instantly recognized Kennedy’s interest in her case.  She received us with a graceful courtesy, but she betrayed no undue interest that might excite suspicion, nor was there any hint given of the note of appeal.  I wondered whether that might not be an instance of the cunning for which I had heard that the insane are noted.  She showed no sign of insanity, however.

I looked about curiously to see if there were evidences of the treatment which she was receiving.  On a table stood a bottle and a glass, as well as a teaspoon, and I recalled the doctor’s remark about the tonic.

“You look tired, Mrs. Cranston,” remarked Kennedy, thoughtfully.  “Why not rest while we are here, and then I will be sure my visit has had no ill effects.”

“Thank you,” she murmured, and I was much impressed by the sweetness of her voice.

As he spoke, Kennedy arranged the pillows on a chaise lounge and placed her on it with her head slightly elevated.  Having discussed the subject of psychanalysis with Kennedy before, I knew that this was so that nothing might distract her from the free association of ideas.

He placed himself near her head, and motioned to us to stand farther back of him, where she could not see us.

“Avoid all muscular exertion and distraction,” he continued.  “I want you to concentrate your attention thoroughly.  Tell me anything that comes into your mind.  Tell all you know of your symptoms.  Concentrate, and repeat all you think of.  Frankly express all the thoughts that you have, even though they may be painful and embarrassing.”

He said this soothingly, and she seemed to understand that much depended upon her answers and the fact of not forcing her ideas.

“I am thinking of my husband,” Mrs. Cranston began, finally, in a dreamy tone.