It seemed to me, don't you know, not as if I'd just come, but as if I'd always been right here, and it was you who'd just come.
Don't you understand! Just as you came when me and Mary Rogers were here; don't you remember her, Clarence, and how she used to do 'gooseberry' for us?
Well, just like that.

So I said to Jim, 'I don't know you any more--get!' and I just slipped on this frock and ordered Manuela around as I used to do--and she in fits of laughter; I reckon, Clarence, she hasn't laughed as much since I left.

And then I thought of you--perhaps worried and flustered as yet over things, and the change, and I just slipped into the kitchen and I told old fat Conchita to make some of these tortillas you know,--with sugar and cinnamon sprinkled on top,--and I tied on an apron and brought 'em up to you on a tray with a glass of that old Catalan wine you used to like.

Then I sorter felt frightened when I got here, and I didn't hear any noise, and I put the tray down in the hall and peeped in and found you asleep.

Sit still, I'll fetch em." She tripped out into the passage, returning with the tray, which she put on the table beside Clarence, and then standing back a little and with her hands tucked soubrette fashion in the tiny pockets of her apron, gazed at him with a mischievous smile.
It was impossible not to smile back as he nibbled the crisp Mexican cake and drank the old mission wine.