“Perhaps they picked up the pieces of the wrong one.”
“But if you would only tell me how you gained it.”
“By the pursuit of conchology.”
“Then it was yourself?” again said Rachel, in her confusion.
“If I be I as I suppose I be,” he replied, giving her his arm again, and as they turned towards the conservatory, adding, “Many such things have happened, and I did not know whether you meant this.”
“That was the reason you made so light of it.”
“What, because I thought it was somebody else?”
“No, the contrary reason; but I cannot understand why you let me go on without telling me.”
“I never interfere when a story is so perfect in itself.”
“But is my story perfect in itself?” said Rachel, “or is it the contrary?”