"Sure Marc." Toffee looked away toward the window as Marc left the room.
The countryside had somehow reassembled itself—as lovely and serene as before, with a blue mist playing about the trees. Toffee and Marc moved down the hillside toward a small valley obscured by the mist.
"I should be angry with you," said Toffee. "You didn't waste any time in sending me back, once you knew how."
"You said I'd know when the time came."
"How did you find out?"
"I kept wondering where it had all started, and then I remembered that foods sometimes cause certain kinds of dreams. Then too, I remembered that you had said that your father was a Welsh. I didn't have to be clever to put it all together and get welch rarebit, especially since it was the very thing I had eaten the first night. It all seemed pretty silly, but somehow it sort of fitted in with what's happened. You're not angry are you?" He looked down at her affectionately.
"Of course not, Marc. There's something you've forgotten. I exist only in your mind. I am as you see me. If I had stayed longer, if I had come to stand in the way of your happiness, I should have become ugly and wretched. I've served my purpose and it's time for me to return. Really, you haven't so much to do with it as you suppose. It's been a wonderful adventure for me, Marc."
"I'm glad, Toffee," Marc said simply. "I'll never forget what you've done for me."
"Just remember Marc, that I'm not so unlike other, ordinary women. There is none of us who can remain lovely unless she does so in the eyes of a man whom she loves. Be good to Julie."