If you will allow me, I will turn on the light, so that we may see each other better.'
I switched on the electric light. What it revealed again amazed me into speechlessness. At the foot of my bed stood the most beautiful woman I had ever seen; I thought so in that first astounded moment—I think so still. She was tall and she was slight. She looked at me out of the biggest and the sweetest pair of eyes I ever saw. But there was something in them which I did not understand. It was not only bewilderment, it was as if she was looking at the world out of a dream. She regarded me, as I sat, with my touzled head of hair, not, as I had feared, with signs of agitation and alarm, but rather with a curious sort of wonderment.
"I don't know who you are. Where am I? Have I ever seen you before?"
It was spoken as a child might speak, with a little tremulous intonation, as if she were on the verge of tears.
"I don't think you have. But don't be alarmed—you are quite safe. I think you have been walking in your sleep."
"Walking in my sleep?"
"I fancy you must have been."
"But—do I walk in my sleep?"
In spite of myself, I smiled at the simplicity of the inquiry.
