"You have only to speak," says she, with a slight gesture that is half mocking, half kindly.
"Come with me after luncheon, to-morrow, up to St. Bridget's Hill?"
"Is that all? And to throw such force into it. Yes, yes; I shall enjoy a long walk like that."
"It is not because of the walk that I ask you to go there with me," says Dysart, the innate honesty that distinguishes him compelling him to lay bare to her his secret meaning. "I have something to say to you. You will listen?"
"Why should I not?" returns she, a little pale. He might, perhaps, have said something further, but that now the footsteps sound close at hand. A glance towards the door that leads from the fragrant night into the still more perfumed air within reveals to them two figures.
Mr. Beauclerk and Miss Maliphant come leisurely forward. The blood receding to Joyce's heart leaves her cold and singularly calm.
CHAPTER XVI.
"Out of the day and night A joy has taken flight."
"Life, I know not what thou art."