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.

If she were here on earth the thought of so soon leaving her behind would sadden me as much as the hope of meeting her now gladdens me." Miss Ludington neither talked herself nor permitted others to talk in a melancholy tone of the probable nearness of her end.