And
when you grew up you were just the same. We've often talked about your
peculiar ways."
"I suppose I am an incorrigible," said Ives. "I am opposed to the
doctrine of predestination, to the rule of three, gravitation, taxation,
and everything of the kind. Life has always seemed to me something like
a serial story would be if they printed above each instalment a synopsis
of _succeeding_ chapters."
Mary laughed merrily.
"Bob Ames told us once," she said, "of a funny thing you did. It was
when you and he were on a train in the South, and you got off at a town
where you hadn't intended to stop just because the brakeman hung up a
sign in the end of the car with the name of the next station on it."
"I remember," said Ives. "That 'next station' has been the thing I've
always tried to get away from."
"I know it," said Mary. "And you've been very foolish. I hope you didn't
find what you wanted not to find, or get off at the station where there
wasn't any, or whatever it was you expected wouldn't happen to you
during the three years you've been away."
"There was something I wanted before I went away," said Ives.
Mary looked in his eyes clearly, with a slight, but perfectly sweet
smile.
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