awed whisper. "And I thought she was just selfish and whimsical."
"And I presume she thought she was, too," conceded the doctor. "But that is what the wander-lust meant. At least that is what a part of it meant."
"Did it mean something else?" asked George, hanging now upon the doctor's words.
"Yes. There is a second detail common to all these dreams. Each involved an expedition which required distinguished and able leadership and contemplated achievements calculated to shed luster on its directing mind—its hero. You were to be that leader always—that hero. She thirsted continually to see her husband glorified, exalted, made a hero of."
"Gosh!" sighed George, impressed and yet out of patience with the fantastic conception. "Why, why, should she want to pin such crazy exploits on me?"
The doctor regarded the young man in silence for a moment, as if waiting to see if another idea would not now associate itself. When there was no indication that it would, the psychoanalyst went on impressively: "That is where the touch of deeper pathos comes in. There has been in your city, going in and out of your home, a world-traveler of appealing social and personal graces who has visited obscure corners of the globe and done one or two things which, in the
