"Sit down, my boy, and pull yourself together."
Mark dropped into the cool, fragrant depths of a timeworn leather chair. The professor relaxed in another.
"I want you to tell me your story again," Elaine's father said. "Think back carefully. Give me every detail."
Slowly, spiritlessly, Mark forced himself to concentrate on the happenings of the evening. His voice a dull monotone, he again recounted his story.
"This woman," probed Professor Duchard, his bright blue eyes stabbing into the other's brown orbs. "Tell me about her. What did she look like?"
Mark shrugged.
"She was only a reflection in a mirror, professor. It was Elaine. Probably the lighting gave me the illusion of someone else."
"Cease thinking of her as a reflection!" the savant retorted, his voice suddenly sharp. "You are a newspaperman by trade. You have been trained to observe closely. I want you to use those powers now. Think of this woman as a person. Describe her to to me as if she were one—"
"She looked like Elaine," said Mark, racking his brain for details. "She looked just like her. Only different, the way two identical twins are different. You know what I mean, professor? The way a person's individual personality sticks out of him in spite of his appearance—"
"Yes. I quite understand."