"You think you are going to put me off by pretending to laugh," he went on patiently; this was to show his superior knowledge of her character; "but the truth is that you dare not be serious, Lady Joan; why don't you give in to your real feelings and stop making a joke of life just this once?"
"I make a joke of life?" she cried; she was half in earnest now; "how is that possible unless one has realized its sadness? You enthusiasts who have never laughed at anything, and are always talking about taking life seriously, you have never gone deep enough to see that it is serious. If you had, you would only laugh for the rest of your life, because—it would be impossible after you had once realized that to keep serious and live."
For the first time in his life the musician did not want to argue.
"Don't you see that I love you as I have never loved any one before, as I could never love any one again?" he said humbly.
"How am I to believe that?" she retorted sharply, and he flushed slightly.
"Is that quite fair of you? Have I not been always perfectly open with you? I told you the story of my marriage the first time I ever met you, and I have told you to-day about poor little No—about Miss Bisley. Could any man do more?"
"No," she said carelessly, "but you might very well have done less,—I mean, the whole town told me about Miss Bisley directly I came home from abroad, though, except for the name, the two accounts do not tally in the least. But then, nothing in Relton shrinks in the washing."
The musician flinched, and tried another tactic.
"Then I suppose you merely think I am a brute who is taking advantage of your loneliness to profess an affection for you which he does not feel? A man has to pay a big penalty for your friendship, Lady Joan."
She would not have let him see it for the world, but she felt she had gone a little too far, and a rapid change came over her mood.