Don't you see?
Oh, don't you see how much nicer it would be if it was a secret ?" He dropped back on his pillow and lay there with an odd expression on his face.
"I never had a secret," he said, "except that one about not living to grow up.

They don't know I know that, so it is a sort of secret.

But I like this kind better." "If you won't make them take you to the garden," pleaded Mary, "perhaps--I feel almost sure I can find out how to get in sometime.
And then--if the doctor wants you to go out in your chair, and if you can always do what you want to do, perhaps--perhaps we might find some boy who would push you, and we could go alone and it would always be a secret garden." "I should--like--that," he said very slowly, his eyes looking dreamy.
"I should like that.

I should not mind fresh air in a secret garden." Mary began to recover her breath and feel safer because the idea of keeping the secret seemed to please him.

She felt almost sure that if she kept on talking and could make him see the garden in his mind as she had seen it he would like it so much that he could not bear to think that everybody might tramp in to it when they chose.
"I'll tell you what I think it would be like, if we could go into it," she said.