"It was all a great shock to me, and I was lame, and—and—I wish everything could be as it was before," she concluded, with a faint flush creeping into her face.
"That is the great tragedy of life, Isabel—that things can never be as they were before. Sometimes they're worse, sometimes better, but the world is never the same."
"Of course," she answered, without grasping his meaning, "but you're going to be all right again now, and—that's the same."
Allison shrugged his shoulders and bit his lips to conceal a smile. "It may be the same for me, but it couldn't be for you. I couldn't give you any guarantee that it wouldn't happen again, you know. I might be run over by a railroad train or a trolley car, or any one of a thousand things might happen to me. There's always a risk."
Tears filled Isabel's eyes. "I don't believe you ever cared very much for me," she said, her lips quivering.
"I did, Isabel," he answered, kindly, "but it's gone now. Even at that, it lasted longer than you cared for me. Come, let's be friends."
He offered his hand. She put hers into it for a moment, then quickly took it away. He noted that it was very cold.
"I must be going," she said, keeping her self-control with difficulty,
"Aunt Francesca will miss me."
"Thank you for coming—and for bringing the violin."
"You're welcome. Good-bye."