``When love is over, how little of love even the lover
understands,'' quoted Clovis to himself.
Rose-Marie was the first to break the silence.
``If that is Erik you have in your arms, who is---that?''
``That, I think, is for you to explain,'' said Mrs. Momeby
stiffly.
``Obviously,'' said Clovis, ``it's a duplicate Erik that
your powers of faith called into being. The question is:
What are you going to do with him?''
The ashen pallor deepened in Rose-Marie's cheeks. Mrs.
Momeby clutched the genuine Erik closer to her side, as
though she feared that her uncanny neighbour might out of
sheer pique turn him into a bowl of gold-fish.
``I found him sitting in the middle of the road,'' said
Rose-Marie weakly.
``You can't take him back and leave him there,'' said
Clovis; ``the highway is meant for traffic, not to be used
as a lumber-room for disused miracles.''
Rose-Marie wept. The proverb ``Weep and you weep alone,''
broke down as badly on application as most of its kind.
Both babies were wailing lugubriously, and the parent
Momebys had scarcely recovered from their earlier lachrymose
condition.
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