“I scarcely know. I liked her at first,—that is, I thought I should like her; and I fancied, too, it was her wish that I might—but—”
“But what? What does this 'but' mean?”
“It means that she has puzzled me, and my hope of liking her depends on my discovering that I have misunderstood her.”
“That's a riddle, if ever there was one! but I suppose it comes to this, that if you have read her aright you do not like her.”
“I wish I could show you a letter she wrote me.”
“And why can't you?”
“I don't think I can tell you even that, Tom.”
“What a mysterious damsel you have grown! Does this come of your living with that great law lord, Lucy? If so, tell him from me he has spoiled you sadly. How frank you were long ago!”
“That is true,” said she, sighing.
“How I wish we could go back to that time, with all its dreaminess and all its castle-building. Do you remember, Lu, when we used to set off of a morning in the boat on a voyage of discovery, as we called it, and find out new islands and new creeks, and give them names?”