"It was beautiful of you. But, you know, it couldn't have happened. It was one of those beautiful things that never can happen."
"That's why I was so sorry. I thought it must look as if I hadn't meant it."
"But you did mean it. Nothing can alter that, can it?"
"No. You must take the will for the deed."
"I do. The will is the only thing that matters."
"Yes. But—it was absurd of me—but I thought you might have been counting on it?"
"Did I count on it? I suppose I did; though I knew it was impossible. You forget that I knew all the time it was impossible. It was only a beautiful idea."
"I'm sorry, then, that it had to remain an idea."
"Don't be sorry. Perhaps that's the only way it could remain beautiful. It wouldn't have done, you know. You only thought it could because you were so kind. It was all very well for me to work for you for three weeks or so. It would have been very different when you had me on your hands for a whole year at a stretch. And it's much better for me that it never came off than if I'd had to see you sorry for it afterwards."
"If I had been sorry, I should not have let you see it."