Marjorie looked after him ruefully.
"What is the matter?" asked the Dream.
"I don't exactly know," said Marjorie; "but there is a mistake somewhere."
"Why didn't you let him help you?" asked the Dream.
"I didn't need his help. I could do it alone."
"But perhaps he needed to help you."
Marjorie bit her lip. "I wanted to do it alone," she said. "I thought it was my work. I wanted to work, and I was glad that it was hard, and that the stones were all that I could lift,—it made it seem more like doing something."
The Dream was silent for a moment, and Marjorie stood dabbling the toe of her shoe in the water. At last, "Were you selfish?" asked the Dream.
"Yes," said Marjorie, in a low voice, "I was." Then she went back and gathered up her roses, and she and the Dream walked slowly on, soon finding themselves on the outskirts of a town.
Presently the streets grew dingy and the houses high and narrow. "I don't see anything to do here," said Marjorie. "Couldn't we go back into the country again?"