“I suppose they must be read. Yes; let us go back to the piazza and open them there. You’ll be glad to rest after your walk to the village.”
“Is that why you want to get at your letters? I’m not tired at all, and I’d rather walk on.”
“Well, whatever you like. You’ve unmasked my deceit about the letters. I certainly don’t care to read them. I see that I had better never try to keep anything from you.”
“Should you like me to tell you everything about myself?”
“Why, you did that once, didn’t you?”
“Oh, that was nothing. I mean everything I think and feel and do.”
“If you wished to tell me. I can’t know too much about you.”
“Don’t be so sure of that. Suppose I had something that lay very heavy on my conscience, and that I didn’t like to tell you. I ought to, oughtn’t I?”
“Why, if it didn’t concern me—”
“But if it did concern you?”