It is a very gentle smile she gives him as she says this.
"Yes: so far, at least, as you are concerned," says he, stoutly. "I shall be true and honest to you so long as my breath lives in my body. So much I can swear to."
"Well," says she, with a rather meagre attempt at light-heartedness, "you almost persuade me with that truculent manner of yours into believing in you at all events, or is it," a little sadly, "that the ways of others drive me to that belief? Well," with a sigh, "never mind how it is, you benefit by it, any way."
"I don't want to force your confidence," says Dysart; "but you have been made unhappy by somebody, have you not?"
"I have not been made happy," says she, her eyes on the ground. "I don't know why I tell you that. You asked a hard question."
"I know. I should have been silent, perhaps, and yet——"
At this moment the sound of approaching footsteps coming up the steps startles them.
"Joyce!" says he, "grant me one request."
"One! You rise to tragedy!" says she, as if a little amused in spite of the depression under which she is so evidently laboring. "Is it to be your last, your dying prayer?"
"I hope not. Nevertheless I would have it granted."