"Treliss?" Harkness repeated after him, liking the name.
"Yes. In North Cornwall. A beautiful place."
He paused—sighed.
"I was there more than ten years ago. I shall never go back."
"Why not?"
"I liked it too well. I daresay they've spoiled it now as they have many others. Thanks to wretched novelists, the railway company and char-à-bancs, Cornwall and Glebeshire are ruined. No, I dare not go back."
"Was it very beautiful?" Harkness asked.
"Yes. Beautiful? Oh yes. Wonderful. But it wasn't that. Something happened to me there."[1]
"So that you dare not go back?"
"Yes. Dare is the word. I believe that the same thing would happen again. And I'm too old to stand it. In my case now it would be ludicrous. It was nearly ludicrous then." Harkness said nothing. "How old are you? If it isn't an impertinence——"