“Never,” I said, and he expatiated for a time on the behaviour of this person and that. One name he avoided for a space.
“And Millie?” said I at last.
“I didn't seem to care a bit for seeing Millie,” he said.
“I expect she seemed changed?”
“Every one was changed. Changed for good. Every one seemed big, you know, and coarse. And their voices seemed loud. Why, the sun, when it rose in the morning, fair hit me in the eye!”
“And Millie?”
“I didn't want to see Millie.”
“And when you did?”
“I came up against her Sunday, coming out of church. 'Where you been?' she said, and I saw there was a row. I didn't care if there was. I seemed to forget about her even while she was there a-talking to me. She was just nothing. I couldn't make out whatever I 'ad seen in 'er ever, or what there could 'ave been. Sometimes when she wasn't about, I did get back a little, but never when she was there. Then it was always the other came up and blotted her out.... Anyow, it didn't break her heart.”
“Married?” I asked.