behind her.

When Toffee entered the living room she found Marc staring out of the window with a curiously foolish grin. She stood beside him for a moment and looked out at the city.

"Go put some clothes on," he said. Toffee was wrapped in a huge towel, draped precariously over one shoulder.

"What for? At this moment, more of me is covered, than at any time since we met."

"Yes I guess so." For a moment they stood silently before the window.

"Toffee--," Marc began.

"Yes, Marc?"

"Why are you here? What is it you want--really?"

"My wish is for you Marc, it has been from the beginning. If I've caused you trouble, perhaps it was because you needed it. I'll be returning soon, but I can't help wanting to linger for a while."

"But how will your return be accomplished?"

"You'll know when the times comes." She smiled up at him. "Maybe it's time I put those clothes on after all." She went into the bedroom.

Marc slumped into a chair. In a way he had enjoyed Toffee and her trouble, but now she would be in the way. "You'll know when the time comes," she had said. He was certain that the time had arrived, but he still hadn't any idea about sending her back to the subconscious. Perhaps it would be best to go back to the beginning. How had it started? He reviewed the strange occurrence over and over again. For the fifth time, he went back to the beginning. Suddenly, he brought his fist down on the arm of the chair.

"Of course, that's it," he murmured. "Her father was a Welsh." He laughed shortly. "It's so simple, I should have known all along."

After a time, the bedroom door flew open. Toffee was making a grand entrance. As she moved toward him, Marc thought briefly that he had never seen her so beguiling. At the center of the room, she paused.

"Isn't it wonderful? I like it even more than the black one."

"You might say, it leaves everything to be desired," said Marc.

"Oh?"

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