"Nearly always. Sometimes I have been taken
to places at the seaside, but I won't stay because
people stare at me. I used to wear an iron thing
to keep my back straight, but a grand doctor came
from London to see me and said it was stupid.
He told them to take it off and keep me out in
the fresh air. I hate fresh air and I don't want to
go out."

"I didn't when first I came here," said Mary.
"Why do you keep looking at me like that?"

"Because of the dreams that are so real," he
answered rather fretfully. "Sometimes when I
open my eyes I don't believe I'm awake."

"We're both awake," said Mary. She glanced
round the room with its high ceiling and shadowy
corners and dim firelight. "It looks quite like a
dream, and it's the middle of the night, and everybody
in the house is asleep -- everybody but us.
We are wide awake."

"I don't want it to be a dream," the boy said
restlessly.

Mary thought of something all at once.

"If you don't like people to see you," she began,
"do you want me to go away?"

He still held the fold of her wrapper and he
gave it a little pull.

"No," he said. "I should be sure you were a
dream if you went. If you are real, sit down on

[[160]]

p159 _ -chap- _ toc-1 _ p160w _ toc-2 _ +chap+ _ p161

v?