He had always said to himself that there could be no persistence of
personality, of character, of identity, of consciousness, except through
memory; yet here, to the last implication of temperament, they all
persisted. The soul that was passing in its integrity through time
without the helps, the crutches, of remembrance by which his own
personality supported itself, why should not it pass so through eternity
without that loss of identity which was equivalent to annihilation?

Her waiting eyes recalled him from his inquiry, and with an effort he
answered, "Yes, I think you do have your being here and now, Miss
Gerald, to an unusual degree."

"And you don't think that is wrong?"

"Wrong? Why? How?"

"Oh, I don't know." She looked round, and her eye fell upon her father
waiting for them in his carriage beside the walk. The sight supplied her
with the notion which Lanfear perceived would not have occurred
otherwise. "Then why doesn't papa want me to remember things?"

"I don't know," Lanfear temporized. "Doesn't he?"

"I can't always tell. Should--should _you_ wish me to remember more than
I do?"

"I?"

She looked at him with entreaty. "Do you think it would make my father
happier if I did?"