RUTH. (_indignantly_) You won’t! I’ll never forget---- (_She stops and turns away to hide her confusion_). ROBERT. (_softly_) Will you promise me that? RUTH. (_evasively_) Of course. It’s mean of you to think that any of us would forget so easily. ROBERT. (_disappointedly_) Oh! RUTH. (_with an attempt at lightness_) But you haven’t told me your reason for leaving yet? ROBERT. (_moodily_) I doubt if you’ll understand. It’s difficult to explain, even to myself. Either you feel it, or you don’t. I can remember being conscious of it first when I was only a kid--you haven’t forgotten what a sickly specimen I was then, in those days, have you? RUTH. (_with a shudder_) Let’s not think about them. ROBERT. You’ll have to, to understand. Well, in those days, when Ma was fixing meals, she used to get me out of the way by pushing my chair to the west window and telling me to look out and be quiet. That wasn’t hard. I guess I was always quiet. RUTH. (_compassionately_) Yes, you always were--and you suffering so much, too! ROBERT. (_musingly_) So I used to stare out over the fields to the hills, out there--(_He points to the horizon_) and somehow after a time I’d forget any pain I was in, and start dreaming. I knew the sea was over beyond those hills,--the folks had told me--and I used to wonder what the sea was like, and try to form a picture of it in my mind. (_With a smile_) There was all the mystery in the world to me then about that--far-off sea--and there still is! It called to me then just as it does now. (_After a slight pause_) And other times my eyes would follow this road, winding off into the distance, toward the hills, as if it, too, was searching for the sea. And I’d promise myself that when I grew up and was strong, I’d follow that road, and it and I would find the sea together. (_With a smile_) You see, my making this trip is only keeping that promise of long ago. RUTH. (_charmed by his low, musical voice telling the dreams of his childhood_) Yes, I see.