“Gerrit?” she said, anxiously.
“Yes: how prettily you used to play on the great boulders in the river....”
She flushed scarlet, in the friendly dusk:
“He’s mad!” she said, harshly. “What does he want to talk about that for?”
He laughed:
“Mayn’t he? He idolizes you ... and he idolized you at that time....”
“He’s always teasing me with those reminiscences.... They’re ridiculous now.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m old. Those memories are pretty enough when you are young.... When you grow older, you let them sleep ... in the dead, silent years. For, when you’re old, they become ridiculous.”
Her voice sounded hard. He was silent.