“No, I can’t say it. It wouldn’t be right. I don’t mean it, and so I won’t say it. I’ll only tell you that I can promise nothing as things are, and that unless you go at life from now on with a tremendous energy I never shall even dream of a possible promising.”
He rose to his feet and towered above her, tall and straight and handsome, and very grave.
“All right,” he said simply. “I’ll remember.”
Ever so much later that evening he rose to bid her good-night.
“Whatever comes, you’ve been an angel to me,” he said in that hasty five seconds that her hand was his.
“Shall I ever regret it?” she asked, looking up to his eyes.
“Never,” he declared earnestly, “never, never. I can swear that, and I shall be able to swear the same thing when I’m as old as my Aunt Mary.”
Mrs. Rosscott lowered her eyes.
“Who could ask more?” she said softly.
“I could,” said Jack—“but I’ll wait first.”