"Yet you bid me hope, Lois?" I asked under my breath.
She nodded.
"You make me happy beyond words," I whispered.
She looked up from her hands:
"Is that all you required to make you happy?"
"Can I ask more?"
"I—I thought men were more ruthless—more imperious and hotly impatient with the mistress of their hearts—if truly I am mistress of yours, as you tell me."
"I am impatient only for your happiness; ruthless only to secure it."
"For my happiness? Not for your own?"
"How can that come to me save when yours comes to you?"