Риф, или Там, где разбивается счастье

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           “Oh,youdeardivinething!Ididn’tdream——”

           “Iknowyoudidn’t.”Shedroppedhergazeandbegantowalkonslowly.“Ican’tsayyou’veconvincedmeofthewisdomofthestep.OnlyIseemtoseethatotherthingsmattermore—andthatnotmissingthingsmattersmost.PerhapsI’vechanged—oryournotchanginghasconvincedme.I’mcertainnowthatyouwon’tbudge.AndthatwasreallyallIevercaredabout.”

           “Oh,astonotbudging—Itoldyousomonthsago:youmighthavebeensureofthat!Andhowcanyoubeanysurertodaythanyesterday?”

           “Idon’tknow.Isupposeonelearnssomethingeveryday——”

           “NotatGivre!”helaughed,andshotahalf-ironiclookather.“Butyouhaven’treallybeenatGivrelately—notformonths!Don’tyousupposeI’venoticedthat,mydear?”

           Sheechoedhislaughtomergeitinanundenyingsigh.“PoorGivre...”

           “PooremptyGivre!Withsomanyroomsfullandyetnotasoulinit—exceptofcoursemygrandmother,whoisitssoul!”

           Theyhadreachedthegatewayofthecourtandstoodlookingwithacommonaccordatthelongsoft-huedfacadeonwhichtheautumnlightwasdying.“Itlookssomadetobehappyin——”shemurmured.

           “Yes—today,today!”Hepressedherarmalittle.

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