Compared
with the intoxicating reality of these golden days Paul looked back on
his wooing of the supposed Ida Ludington as a vague and unsatisfying
dream.
Now that Ida was no longer playing a part, he was really just becoming
acquainted with her, and finding out what manner of maiden it was to whom
he had lost his heart. Each day, almost each hour, discovered to him some
new trait, some unsuspected grace of mind or heart, till, in this glowing
girl, so bright, so blithe, so piquant, he had difficulty in recognizing
any likeness, save of face and form, to the moody, freakish, melancholy,
hysterical, and altogether eerie Ida Ludington.
"I am so glad," Miss Ludington said to her one day, "that you are Ida
Slater, and not my Ida."
"Why are you glad?" Ida asked. "Would you not have been happier if you
had gone on believing me to be your girlish self?"
"I should have grown very sad by this time if I had continued to think
that you were she?" replied Miss Ludington. "I have not long to live,
and it is far more important to me that she should be there to welcome me
when I go over than that I should have her here with me for a few days
before I go.
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