"You are sure?"
She knew the pain she was causing him, but she answered:—
"Yes. I could n't admit that to any one else in the world but you—and it hurts you, Peter."
"It hurts like the devil," he said.
She placed her hand upon his.
"Poor Peter," she said gently.
"It hurts like the devil, but it's nothing for you to pity me for," he put in quickly. "I'd rather have the hurt from you than nothing."
"You feel like that?" she asked earnestly.
"Yes."
"Then," she said, "you must understand how, even with me, the joy and the grief are one?"