"And that," said Rosalind, "was the reason Jaques came to Arden?"
"Yes," said I.
"And found it—?"
"Shall we say—Hades?"
"Oh!" she murmured, scandalised.
"It happened," I continued, "that he was cursed with a good memory. And the zest was gone from his little successes and failures, now there was no one to share them; and nothing seemed to matter very much. Oh, he really was the sort of man that never grows up! And it was dreary to live among memories of the past, and his life was now somewhat perturbed by disapproval of his own folly and by hunger for a woman who was out of his reach."
"And Rosalind—I mean the girl—?"
"She married Orlando—or Gamelyn, or Alfred, or Athelstane, or Ethelred, or somebody,—and, whoever it was, they lived happily ever afterward," I said, morosely.
Rosalind pondered over this dénouement for a moment.
"Do you know," said she, "I think—"