speech. The vanity of women had long memories, but she was making no
claim on him of a compliment or a mistake. With another woman, a totally
different one, he might have feared the recall possibly even some
imbecile "offer." So, in having to say that he had indeed forgotten, he
was conscious rather of a loss than of a gain; he already saw an interest
in the matter of her mention. "I try to think--but I give it up. Yet I
remember the Sorrento day."

"I'm not very sure you do," May Bartram after a moment said; "and I'm not
very sure I ought to want you to. It's dreadful to bring a person back
at any time to what he was ten years before. If you've lived away from
it," she smiled, "so much the better."

"Ah if _you_ haven't why should I?" he asked.

"Lived away, you mean, from what I myself was?"

"From what _I_ was. I was of course an ass," Marcher went on; "but I
would rather know from you just the sort of ass I was than--from the
moment you have something in your mind--not know anything."

Still, however, she hesitated. "But if you've completely ceased to be
that sort--?"

"Why I can then all the more bear to know. Besides, perhaps I haven't."

"Perhaps. Yet if you haven't," she added, "I should suppose you'd
remember. Not indeed that _I_ in the least connect with my impression
the invidious name you use. If I had only thought you foolish," she
explained, "the thing I speak of wouldn't so have remained with me. It