"Desperate," he answered, and shook his head.
"What is it?" Her eyes were widely opened in excitement and alarm. "You ain't going to be driven to forge something, like people in novels? Or—or—it isn't a big robbery, is it? Oh, you wouldn't!"
The face opposite looked so smiling and candid and innocent that it made the words she had hazarded an obvious absurdity, even to herself, as soon as she had uttered them.
"Why not a murder?" said Lisle. "I think it shall be a murder. Upon my word, you're complimentary! No, no, I don't mean to try my hand at any of them." She smiled, relieved. "But I must go out to-night. Lydia, will you let me in once more?"
"Once more? You won't ask again?"
"Never again."
There was a pause: "Didn't you say that last time?"
"Lydia, you are the unkindest girl—"
"Well, then, I will."
"No, you are the kindest."