“I don’t know.”
“You are not really sorry to go, are you?”
“No, I’m glad.”
“Glad to go away from us all.”
“I suppose so—since I must.”
“Ah, Fate—Fate! It separates you whether you want it or not.”
“What?”
“Why, you see, you have to leave. I mustn’t stay out here—it is growing chilly. How soon are you going?”
“I don’t know.”
“Not soon then?”