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Completely she became Mary-in-the-glass, that sentimental young woman, and in that personality tripped along the path of thought where stood her stranger. Delectably she relived the encounter. Paced down the street, took again his arm; without a fault recalled his words, without a check gave her replies; recalled the pitch of his voice to the nicest note, struck again the light in his eyes.
Does it do them any good, do you suppose, to know that you can never think of them without making yourself unhappy?" Mary-in-the-glass attempted a weak quibble; was instantly snapped. "I'm not saying you are never to think of them. Goodness knows what I should do if I did not.
"The ridiculous thing you did," Mary-in-the-glass was told "the ridiculous thing you did to make yourself miserable was to go thinking about about Ireland." The mouth of Mary-in-the-glass ominously twitched. "There you go again. And it is so absolutely forbidden to think about that. Whatever's the use of it?" Mary-in-the-glass could adduce no reason, and must be prodded. "Does it do you any good?
Her face when the cab brought her back! And trying to feel her heart! And her rage with that little worm of a Mr. Chater! Can't you see the fun of it instead of crying over it?" Mary-in-the-glass could. The successive recollections induced the prettiest dimples on her face. She was at once forgiven.
But Mary did not brood long upon this melancholy obstacle; drove away Mary-outside-the-glass; became again Mary-in-the-glass. And they are impossible creatures these Marys-in-the-glass. They will approach an unbridged chasm across which no Mary-out-side could by any means adventure, and, floating the gulf, will deliriously roam in the fields beyond. So now.
Mary-in-the-glass, therefore, constructing a re- encounter, happened to be strolling along the scene of the accident, and lo! there was he! Unhappily this vision was transient. Mary-outside-the-glass, that cold young woman, got in a word here that erased the picture.
But Mary-in-the-glass, that sentimental young woman, was no prober of emotions. They veiled the hard business of commonplace life; and amid them mistily she now floated afar into dim features where her stranger, stranger no more, walked with her hand in hand. There was attempt at first to construct an actual re-encounter.
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