[Uneasily.] What happened—between us—is so long ago. I was a child.

[Smiles maliciously.] A child? Are you sure? It was in the garden of his mother's house. No? [He points towards the garden.] Over there. You plighted your troth, as they say, with a kiss. And you gave him your garter. Is it allowed to mention that?

[With some reserve.] If you think it worthy of mention.

I think you have not forgotten it. [Clasping his hands quietly.] I do not understand it. I thought, too, that after I had gone . . . Did my going make you suffer?

I always knew you would go some day. I did not suffer; only I was changed.

Towards him?

Everything was changed. His life, his mind, even, seemed to change after that.

[Musing.] Yes. I saw that you had changed when I received your first letter after a year; after your illness, too. You even said so in your letter.

It brought me near to death. It made me see things differently.