"--by some young swain," he added.

"Marc there just isn't any hope for you."

"I'd have agreed with you two days ago."

"And now?"

"Who knows?"

"I'm sure I don't."

"That's as it should be." Marc started for the bedroom. "I could use a little sprucing up myself." At the door he turned back. "Suppose we make a special occasion of dinner tonight--go somewhere, where the food is especially good? I know a place that serves a wonderful welsh rarebit. I was there just night before last." Toffee's smile immediately disappeared and for a moment her eyes searched Marc's face, which had, suddenly, become quite serious. Her smile reappeared as suddenly as it had faded, but it seemed a bit more set.

"I'm sure I'll love it," she said.

Marc spoke slowly and his voice carried a touch of sadness. "And remind me to stop by the drug-store for sleeping tablets. I ran out the other night."

"Sure Marc." Toffee looked away toward the window as Marc left the room.

The countryside had somehow reassembled itself--as lovely and serene as before, with a blue mist playing about the trees. Toffee and Marc moved down the hillside toward a small valley obscured by the mist.

"I should be angry with you," said Toffee. "You didn't waste any time in sending me back, once you knew how."

"You said I'd know when the time came."

"How did you find out?"

"I kept wondering where it had all started, and then I remembered that foods sometimes cause certain kinds of dreams. Then too, I remembered that you had said that your father was Welsh. I didn't have to be clever to put it all together and get welsh rarebit, especially since it was the very thing I had eaten the first night. It all seemed pretty silly, but somehow it sort of fitted in with what's happened. You're not angry are you?" He looked down at her affectionately.

"Of course not, 

 Prev. P 20/24 next