Now that she had confessed her love, she took endless delight in learning all the circumstances of my engagement to that former self. For so, since recognizing in those sketches Edith's wonderful likeness to herself, she had come more and more to regard her. Seeing the pleasure these had afforded, by her special request, indeed, I had made another sketch representing Edith in a costume she wore on a certain never-to-be-forgotten occasion. With this before us, I had been made to go over the whole story again. Reva had listened somewhat pensively.
"Do you really and truly love Reva as much as you did Edith?" she asked suddenly, at a certain point in my narration.
I protested that the question was altogether absurd, seeing that Edith and Reva were to me one and the same person. She herself laughed at what she termed her foolish question, and begged me to proceed with the narrative of events.
"What!" exclaimed Reva, when a certain particular hitherto omitted had escaped me: "you kissed her every time you called?"
I was then obliged to explain that such was the accorded privilege under the stated circumstances.
"She must indeed have been much more dear to you than I am," exclaimed Reva, with a slight tremor in her voice, "since you have never"—She checked herself, blushing violently, and seemed frightened at the impulsive utterance that had so unwittingly escaped her.
We were standing on the veranda at the time, just about to enter to join Hulmar, who was busily engaged
