"It isn't that."
He covered her hand lying on his arm with his hand.
"What is it, then?"
She pulled her fingers from under his and drew away a bit.
He made up his mind to try and tell her.
"It's the flowers. I should have told you long ago. Even at the beginning when we first—When I first came here, I—"
She interrupted him.
"When was that? How long ago?"
"How can I tell? Ages ago."
"It does seem;" she said it slowly. "It does seem as if you had always come here. I can't remember the time when you didn't come. It's strange, isn't it? Because, you know, there was a time when you weren't here. That was when I began with the flowers."