"I don't think I am so happy as I used to be.

But don't tell your father; I feel sure he does not notice it, and it would vex him.

But I want you to be happy; you used not to be when you were little; you were always sensitive and queer.

But you do seem happier now, and that's a good thing." Here again this was all sensible, when taken in bits, but its aspect was different when considered together.

She looked at Michael anxiously a moment, and then drew her chair closer to him, laying her thin, veined hand, sparkling with many rings, on his knee.
"But it wasn't I who made you happier," she said, "and that's so dreadful.