"No; but the first time I came, and especially just at first, I seemed to remember all kinds of things—" She paused as though trying in vain to revive her impressions—"Odd things, not a bit like anything in Oxford. I can't recall them now, but sometimes in London I fancy I've seen places before."
"Of course you have, dear."
"And the first time I saw that old picture there I knew it was Rome, and I had a notion that I'd been there and seen just that view."
"You've been seeing pictures and reading books and hearing talk all your life, and in the peculiar state of your memory, I suppose you can't distinguish between the impressions made on it by facts and by ideas."
Mildred was silent; but it was not the silence of conviction. Then she jumped up.
"I'm going to see Baby. You needn't come if you don't want."
He hesitated.
"I'm afraid it's too late. Milly doesn't like—" He broke off with a wild laugh. "What am I talking about!"
"I suppose you were going to say, Milly doesn't like people taking a candle into the room when Baby is shut up for the night. I don't care what Milly likes. He's my baby now, and he's sure to look a duck when he's asleep. Come along!"
She put her arm through his and together they climbed the steep staircase to the nursery.