"You do not mean that?" he said hurriedly.
"Indeed I do."
"I know," he said, "you never say anything you do not mean. But how do you mean it, Lois? Not to deny me? You do not mean that?"
"Yes," she said. And it was like putting a knife through her own heart when she said it. O, if she were at home! O, if she had never come on this drive! O, if she had never left Esterbrooke and those sick-beds!—But here she was, and must stand the question; and Mr. Dillwyn had not done.
"What reason do you give me?"—and his voice grated now with pain.
"I gave none," said Lois faintly. "Don't let us talk about it! It is no use. Don't ask me anything more!"
"One question I must. I must know it. Do you dislike me, Lois?"
"Dislike? O no! how should I dislike you?" she answered. There was a little, very slight, vibration in her voice as she spoke, and her companion discerned it. When an instrument is very high strung, a quite soft touch will be felt and answered, and that touch swept all the strings of Mr. Dillwyn's soul with music.
"If you do not dislike me, then," said he, "what is it? Do you, possibly like me, Lois?"
Lois could not prevent a little hesitation before she answered, and that, too, Philip well noted.