"
"Sylvia--"
"Yes, darling--"
"You know I have planned to start West with Peter three days after
Sally's wedding--"
"Yes--"
"Would you rather I didn't go?"
"No; I'm glad you're going--I mean, I'm glad you have decided to keep to
your plan."
"What makes you think I have?"
"Because, being you, you couldn't do otherwise."
"But when I come back--"
Her fingers tightened in his.
"I want two months all alone with you in this little house," he
whispered. "Send the servants away--it won't be very hard to do the
work--for just us two--I'll help. That's--that's--_marriage_--a big
wedding and a public honeymoon--and--all that go with them--are just a
cheap imitation--of the real thing. Then, later on, if you like, this
first winter, we'll go away together--to Spain or Italy or the South of
France--or wherever you wish--but first--we'll begin together here. Will
you marry me--the first of September, Sylvia?"
Austin drove home in the broad daylight of four o'clock on a June
morning.
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