It came into her head with real emotional force that this must be some particularly fantastic sort of dream. She wanted to think of him as her beloved person, to be near him and watch him, to have him going about, doing this and that, saying this and that, unconscious of her, while she too remained unconscious of herself. But here was a girl—she must be a girl, since she was his daughter and pat-able—imitating the woman quite remarkably and cleverly. It would have saved me much circumlocution, and you some suspense. I have counted you, and always hoped to count you, the best of my friends. Well-balanced, sane, wasn’t I? You never heard anyone call me a madman? I’m pretty near being one now, and it’s her fault. Who is she, I say?” “My sister!” Annabel faltered. She stared at his pleading face.
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