" She was sitting close beside me, like a child, resting her head on
my arm, and she took my hand in both of hers.
"No," I said, "I am keeping nothing from you, pretty child! I could not
explain to you what is in my mind, and it would spoil your pleasure if I
could. It is all right, and you will see in good time."
"I hate to be put off like that," she said. "You are not really
interested in me; and you do not trust me; you do not care about the
things I care about, and if you are so superior, you ought to explain to
me why."
"Well," I said, "I will try to explain. Do you ever remember having been
very happy in a place, and having been obliged to leave it, always
hoping to return; and then when you did return, finding that, though
nothing was changed, you were yourself changed, and could not, even if
you would, have taken up the old life again?"
"Yes," said Cynthia, musing, "I remember that sort of thing happening
once, about a house where I stayed as a child. It seemed so stupid and
dull when I went back that I wondered how I could ever have really liked
it."
"Well," I said, "it is the same sort of thing here.
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