“I was so—so wretched until you found me, and I’ve been so happy since, that—that I couldn’t quite bear—your words.”
“I hope I did not speak roughly,” poor, blind Dick said, hardly understanding her grief. In his separation from her he was losing nothing, but she—poor child—she was losing everything.
“No—that’s it. You are so kind,” she faltered. “Don’t, please, don’t mind me. I am so foolish. I am always crying, don’t you think?”
She looked up at him with a sad, little smile that made his heart ache, he hardly knew why.
“Will you promise me something, Dido?” he asked, suddenly.
“Yes,” she answered, simply.
“Promise that you will try to be happy; that you will never cherish blue thoughts, no difference what happens. Let ill-luck frown on you all it wishes. Laugh at it; laugh in it’s face until your laughter makes it smile. Promise me to do this?”
“Is that what you do?” she asked, evasively.
“Well, I don’t know. But what difference! I don’t get as low in spirits as you do. Won’t you promise?”
“You have brought me happiness. I promise if I get blue to think of you. Will that do?” she asked, seriously.