. " "You do not remember me, I dare say," observed the stranger. It was not possible for him to have been deceived. ” “It came,” he said. He was asleep when Jonathan entered, and growled at being disturbed. The flowers and turf, a wild strawberry, a rare butterfly, and suchlike little intimate things had become more interesting than mountains. He looked eager and flushed and troubled. Tears began to stream from her cheeks. She could almost smell her mother’s attar of white roses and lemon verbena with the memory of the story. White’s,” she said, “and if he is going to persist in this delusion, we cannot both remain here. . I am something of an old fogey, Anna, I’m afraid, but if you treat me like this you will teach me to forget it. And in reality even that magic garden-close resolves itself into a villa at Morningside Park and my father being more and more cross and overbearing at meals—and a general feeling of insecurity and futility.
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