"Not here," he urged.
"Well, then, there's that other Me down in the pool watching this Me, and saying, 'Don't make a fool of yourself, honey.'"
"There are two Persises, then?"
"At least a hundred. But there's one down there. Look, you can see her yourself!"
She knelt above the water-glass, and he bent over to gaze. He saw her looking up at him, and his own image looking up close to hers. They smiled and made faces like children. And when he rubbed his cheek against hers the images imitated the foolishness.
"See, they're mocking us," she said. A little breeze wrinkled the mirror, and she cried: "They're frowning! They want us to be sensible! Come along! They'll be missing us at home."
"At home?" he echoed, reprovingly.
"At Willie's, I mean," she corrected. And then she put his hands away and spoke earnestly. "It came mighty near being home to me. I have a confession to make. I ought to have made it before. I have been amazed at myself for not telling you, for taking your love when I had no right to."
He stared at her in terror, and she smiled with pride at his fear and babbled on almost incoherently.
"Don't be afraid—though I'm glad you are. But I hope you won't despise me. But I couldn't seem to help myself. You're really to blame for being so terribly overwhelming. You see, I—I—I've told you how often Willie Enslee proposed to me, and—well, one day—that very day you saw me in my old hat—the first time, you know—well, I had just had a talk with my father, and the poor old boy was all cut up about his—his money matters. He's too nice and sweet to be much of a financier, you know, and—well, I was scared to death, and I thought the world was coming to an end, and I'd better—better get aboard the ark, you know—and I hadn't met you then, you know, and Willie proposed again, and I—I accepted him."