"I ain't asked you to do what ain't right, Caddie," he asseverated. "What makes you tell me I have?"
"That's what it says to me," she repeated fixedly. "'You're a fool to do it.' That's what it says. It's my double personality."
It seemed best to Myron to humor this inexplicable mood, until he could persuade her back into a normal one.
"That wa'n't the way I understood it," he told her, "when I read the piece. The folks that were afflicted seemed like different folks. Now, you ain't any different, rain or shine. You're as even as anybody I should wish to see. That's what I've liked about ye, Caddie."
The softness of the implication she swept aside, as if she hardly dared regard it lest it weaken her resolve.
"Oh, I ain't goin' to be the same, day in, day out," she declared eagerly. "I feel I ain't, Myron. It's gettin' the best of me, the other creatur' that wants to have its own way. It's been growin' and growin', same as a child grows up, and now it's goin' to take its course. Same 's Hermie's growed up, you know. He's old enough to have his way, and lead his life same's we've led ours, and we've got to stand one side and let him do it."
Her husband gave her a sharp, sudden glance, and then fell again to the contemplation of his knotted brown hands that seemed, like all his equipment, informed with specialized power.
"Well," he said at length, "I guess you need a kind of a change. You'll feel better when you get over to t'other house. There's a different outlook over there, and you'll have more to take up your mind."
She answered instantly, in the haste that dares not wait upon reflection. Her eyes were brighter now, and her hands worked nervously.
"Oh, I ain't goin' to move, Myron. I might as well tell you that now. I'm goin' to stay right here where I be. I don't feel able to help it. That's my double personality. It won't let me."