“They ain't! Well, why ain't they?” Then he swore in a slow, plaintive manner.
“They ain't! Well, why ain't they? That's what I want to know.”
He went off leaving me reflecting about all the things a man misses. Then I thought about the way things are linked together, one thing happening because of another.
For if the King of Lua hadn't roused Mrs. Ulswater's wrath so that she had to carry him off, she wouldn't have carried off Sadler too; and if Sadler hadn't been a poet, probably Susannah wouldn't have been either; and if Susannah hadn't begun a poem on me, it wouldn't have turned into a semipublic diary; and if I hadn't seen her diary, and seen it grow from day to day, I wouldn't have got into that tumultuous condition. Susannah saw through me, as if I were a window pane, but the window, through which I saw into Susannah's secrecy, was her diary.
At last I got up and went down into the cabin. Susannah was not there, but the doctor was reading to Mrs. Ulswater.
“Mrs. Ulswater,” I said, “is Susannah too young to be kissed; that is, by me?”
“Don't you mean too old?” she asked quietly, without looking up.
“No, I mean too young.”
Mrs. Ulswater was silent a moment.
“I suppose she is. But not too young for us to make plans.”