'I don't want you to look after my house; you can have a housekeeper. I'm sorry you think that is why I want you to return. Perhaps you think that is why I came over. Oh, Mildred!'
'Harold, I'm sorry. I did not think such a thing. It was good of you to come to Paris. Harold, you're not angry?'
'No, Mildred, I'm not angry. But all this seems strange to me: this house, these people, this paper.'
'I know, I know. But we cannot all think alike. We never did think alike. But that should not interfere in our affection for one another. We should love each other. We are alone in the world, father and mother both gone, only a few aunts and cousins that we don't care about.' 'Do you ever think of what father and mother would say if they knew? What would they think of your choosing to leave home to live with these people?'
'Do not let us argue these things, we shall never agree.'
The affection which had suddenly warmed her had departed, and her heart had grown cold as stone again.
'Each must be free to choose his or her life.'
'You surely don't intend always to live here?'
'Always? I don't know about always, for the present certainly.'
'Then there is nothing but to say good-bye.'