"Aye," says I, "we did."
"This was the first great sorrow of my life—that by my happiness you two were rendered desolate," says he, laying his hand upon my shoulder.
"No, no," says I.
"Yes," says he, "think you I have been so blind, Dick?"
"You were her choice," says I.
"True, I was her choice," he repeated, "and methinks it came nigh breaking both your hearts, yet you were my friends still—the old bonds were too strong for self to break them."
"'T were a poor friendship else," says I.
"And now, Dick," says he, with his eyes on the cornice again, "there is Pen," and I saw his lips quiver slightly.
"Aye," I nodded, "there's Pen—our Pen."
I felt his fingers tighten on my shoulder, but he was silent.