Publisher's Synopsis
Sometimes the little boy who calls me father brings me an invitation from his mother: "I shall beso pleased if you will come and see me," and I always reply in some such words as these: "Dearmadam, I decline." And if David asks why I decline, I explain that it is because I have no desire tomeet the woman."Come this time, father," he urged lately, "for it is her birthday, and she is twenty-six," which isso great an age to David, that I think he fears she cannot last much longer."Twenty-six, is she, David?" I replied. "Tell her I said she looks more."I had my delicious dream that night. I dreamt that I too was twenty-six, which was a long timeago, and that I took train to a place called my home, whose whereabouts I see not in my wakinghours, and when I alighted at the station a dear lost love was waiting for me, and we went awaytogether. She met me in no ecstasy of emotion, nor was I surprised to find her there; it was as if wehad been married for years and parted for a day. I like to think that I gave her some of the things tocarry.
