You have taught me to speak in your tongue enough for all the usual things of life, but one can only speak from the depths of one's heart in one's native tongue.

And see," she added, with a painful little smile, "how strange it would sound if I were to tell you all I thought in the language of my people--of my people, whom I shall never see again.

Richard, can you understand what it must be to have a father whom one is never likely to see again--whom, if one did see again, something painful would happen?
We grow away from people against our will; we feel the same towards them, but they cannot feel the same towards us; for their world is in another hemisphere.

We want to love them, and we love, remember, and are glad to meet them again, but they feel that we are unfamiliar, and, because we have grown different outwardly, they seem to miss some chord that used to ring.

Richard, I--I--" She paused.
"Yes, Lali," he assented--"yes, I understand you so far; but speak out." "I am not happy," she said.