The real ‘Alcide’,” she wound up with a faint smile across the table at him, “is here. Just now the waterchestnuts…. It was the same smell that she had in his memory, but now it was definite, palpable, like a perfume. ’ ‘I didn’t bring him,’ Gerald returned swiftly. 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.
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