"Tie it into my hankercher," says Tommy, without another second's hesitation. "Tie it tight, or it'll slip out and I'll lose it. Good-bye, and thank you, Mr. Dysart," thrusting a hot little fist into his. "I'll keep some of the hundred and twenty ones for you and Joyce."
He rushes away down the hill, eager to tell his grand news to Mabel, and presently Joyce and Dysart are alone again.
"You see you were not so clever a diplomatist as you thought yourself," says Joyce, smiling faintly; "Tommy came back."
"Tommy and I have one desire in common; we both want to be with you."
"Could you be bought off like Tommy?" says she, half playfully. "Oh, no! Half a crown would not be good enough."
"Would all the riches the world contains be good enough?" says he in a voice very low, but full of emotion. "You know it would not. But you, Joyce—twelve months is a long time. You may see others—if not Beauclerk—others—and——"
"Money would not tempt me," says the girl slowly. "If money were your rival, you would indeed be safe. You ought to know that."
"Still—Joyce——" He stops suddenly. "May I think of you as Joyce? I have called you so once or twice, but——"
"You may always call me so," says she gently, if indifferently. "All my friends call me so, and you—are my friend, surely!"
The very sweetness of her manner, cold as ice as it is, drives him to desperation.