"I have something on my conscience." She laughed low. "No, it is serious!" she went on, as if reproving herself. "I have always felt that everything that has happened to you since we parted that morning by the shore has been my fault."
"Why?" Marcello seemed surprised.
"Because I called you a baby," she said. "If you had not been angry at that, if you had not turned away and left me suddenly—you were quite right, you know—you would not have been knocked down, you would not have wandered away and lost yourself. You would not have lost your memory, or been ill in a strange place, or—or all the rest! So it is all my fault, you see, from beginning to end."
"How absurd!" Marcello looked at her and smiled.
"No. I think it is true. But you have changed very much, Marcello. You are not a boy any longer. You have a will of your own now; you are a man. Do you mind my telling you that?"
"Certainly not!" He smiled again.
"I remember very well what you answered. You said that I should not laugh at you again. And that has come true. You said a good many other things. Do you remember?"
"No. I was angry. What did I say? Everything that happened before I was hurt seems very far off."
"It does not matter," Aurora answered softly. "I am glad you have forgotten, for though I was angry too, and did not care at the time, the things you said have hurt me since."
"I am sorry," Marcello said gently, "very, very sorry. Forgive me."