"Just the meadows, and the river, and the sunshine."
"You leave me out?"
"No," she said, "you may be somewhere in it, if you like. Because if nothing was going to change, I shouldn't change either; and I like you being here now, so I should like you being here always."
"Do you always expect to change to people?"
"It's not altogether me. They change to me, I think."
"If I don't change to you, will you promise not to change to me?" He laughed as he spoke, but he looked at her intently. She turned away, saying,
"I should be rather afraid never to change to a person. It would make him mean so terribly much to one, wouldn't it?"
"But you married?" he whispered, whether in seriousness or in mockery he himself could hardly tell.
"Yes," she said. She seemed to agree that there was a puzzle, but to be unable to give any explanation of it. The fact was there, not to be mended by theorising about it.