“I’m Lopa,” said the husky voice. “I’m Lopa herself.”
“You mean I’m to suppose you’re not Mrs. Horner now?”
“Never was Mrs. Horner!” the voice declared, speaking undeniably from Mrs. Horner’s lips—but with such conviction that Eugene, in spite of everything, began to feel himself in the presence of a third party, who was none the less an individual, even though she might be another edition of the apparently somnambulistic Mrs. Horner. “Never was Mrs. Horner or anybody but just Lopa. Guide.”
“You mean you’re Mrs. Horner’s guide?” he asked.
“Your guide now,” said the voice with emphasis, to which was incongruously added a low laugh. “You came here once before. Lopa remembers.”
“Yes—so did Mrs. Horner.”
Lopa overlooked his implication, and continued, quickly: “You build. Build things that go. You came here once and old gentleman on this side, he spoke to you. Same old gentleman here now. He tell Lopa he’s your grandfather—no, he says ‘father.’ He’s your father.”
“What’s his appearance?”
“How?”
“What does he look like?”