When joy or sorrow came to her now, her first impulse was to hurry with it to him.
Was he still the same, quite the same?
She, whom love had made a child of, asked it fearfully, as if to gaze upon him openly just at first might be blinding; and he pretended not to understand.

"The same as what, Grizel ?" "Are you still--what I think you ?" "Ah, Grizel, not at all what you think me." "But you do ?" "Coward! You are afraid to say the word.

But I do!" "You don't ask whether I do!" "No." "Why?
Is it because you are so sure of me ?" He nodded, and she said it was cruel of him.
"You don't mean that, Grizel." "Don't I ?" She was delighted that he knew it.
"No; you mean that you like me to be sure of it." "But I want to be sure of it myself." "You are.

That was why you asked me if I loved you.

Had you not been sure of it you would not have asked." "How clever you are!" she said gleefully, and caressed a button of his velvet coat.