"You're going to shut your doors to me?" he asked, turning pale.
"Not to you only, to everybody. I'm not made for society. I'm out of place in it, out of tune with it. Solitude suits me better."
"You will die of loneliness. Seeing a few devoted friends will do you good."
"My troubles are too deep."
"Don't you think you're a little selfish? If you shut your doors, others will suffer, and you don't care. You are willing to deprive us of the great pleasure of seeing you. But don't you know that the pain we give reacts upon ourselves? Don't be selfish."
"It's true. I'm perhaps selfish. But who of us is perfect? The most innocent, the purest people in the world, can make others unhappy, without wishing to."
He studied her, feeling that he was near to the secret of her sorrow.
"Sorrento has bored you?" he asked.
"Not exactly bored me. I have been unhappy here."
"More unhappy than at Naples?"