Remembering what Leslie had said about the dream, I was surprised to see she was of anything, apparently, but a hysterical nature. One would not have thought her to be the type subject to hallucinations of any nature. Honora had large, lustrous, gray-blue eyes. From her carefully dressed chestnut hair to her dainty, fashionable foot-gear she was "correct." Her face had what people call "character." Yet, as I studied it and the personality it expressed, I had an indefinable feeling that there was something wanting. It was some time before I was able to catch it, much less express it. But as she talked I realized what it was. Her beauty was that of a splendid piece of sculpture--cold, almost marble. There seemed to be something lacking. I could not at first define it, yet I felt that it was lacking, nevertheless. The very perfection I saw fell short of some quality. It was that elusive thing we call "heart." As we entered with Doyle, Honora seemed to ignore him. Once I saw her covertly eying Kennedy, after our introduction, as though estimating him. Doyle had glossed the introduction over by saying that we were a "couple of scientists." What idea it conveyed to Mrs. Wilford I do not know. It meant nothing to me, except that Doyle suffered from either secret jealously or contempt. "I understand," questioned Doyle, in his best third-degree, hammer-and-tongs method, "that some time ago you had a disagreement with Mr. Wilford and even threatened to leave him." "Yes?" parried Honora, without admitting a syllable. "I didn't leave him, though, did I?" I watched her closely. She did not flinch from the questioning, nor did she betray anything. Her face wore an expression of enforced calmness. Had she steeled herself for this ordeal, as merely the first of many? Try as he might, Doyle could not shake her calmness. Yet all the time he gave the impression that he was holding something in reserve against her. "We shall have to require you to stay here, for the present," added Doyle, ominously, as his man summoned him outside for some message from headquarters. I saw what his idea was. It was a refinement of torture for her--in the hope that, surrounded by things that would keep the tragedy constantly in her mind, she might break down. Honora, on the other hand, did not seem to me to be entirely frank with the detective. Was it that Doyle, by his manner, antagonized her? Or was there some deeper reason? For a moment we were alone with her. If I had expected any appeal to Kennedy, I was mistaken. "I understand that you have been under the care of Doctor Lathrop," hazarded Craig. "Yes," she replied; "I've been so run down and miserable this season in town that I needed some treatment." "I see," considered Kennedy. "Doctor Leslie has told me. He also told me about your dreams."