"But I interested you in a way--you see, I am vain enough to think that.
Well, you also interested me, and I urged my aunt to press you to stay.
It has been very pleasant, and when you go it will be very humdrum again;
our conversation, mustering, rounding-up, bullocks, and rabbits. That,
of course, is engrossing in a way, but not for long at a time."

He did not stir, but went on looking at her. "Yes, I believe it has been
pleasant for you, else it had not been so pleasant for me. Honestly, I
don't believe I shall ever get you out of my mind."

"That is either slightly rude or badly expressed," she said. "Do you
wish, then, to get me out of your mind?"

"No, no---- You are very keen. I wish to remember you always. But what
I felt at the moment was this. There are memories which are always
passive and delightful. We have no wish to live the scenes of which they
are over again, the reflection is enough. There are others which cause
us to wish the scenes back again, with a kind of hunger; and yet they
won't or can't come back. I wondered of what class this memory would
be."

The girl flushed ever so slightly, and her fingers clasped a little
nervously, but she was calm. Her voice was even; it had, indeed, a
little thrilling ring of energy. "You are wonderfully daring," she
replied, "to say that to me. To a school-girl it might mean so much: to
me--!" She shook her head at him reprovingly.

He was not in the least piqued. "I was absolutely honest in that.
I said nothing but what I felt. I would give very much to feel confident
one way or the other--forgive me, for what seems incredible egotism. If