"Oh, dear old Bob, I'm so miserable; I hate myself for having done it, and I hate myself worse for being so glad it's undone. It did seem best till I did it. No, I suppose I really wanted the title and—and all that. I do hate myself! And now—the very same day—I let you——"
"You haven't let me do much," he suggested consolingly.
"Yes, I have. At least——" She came a little nearer to him. He took hold of her other hand. He drew her to him and held her in his arms.
"That's all right," he remarked, still in tones of consolation.
"If anybody knew this! You won't say a word, will you, Bob? Not for ever so long? You will pretend it was ever so long before I—I mean, between——?"
"I'll tell any lie," said Bob very cheerfully.
She laughed hysterically. "Because I should never be able to look people in the face if anybody knew that on the very same day——"
"I should think a—a week would be about right?"
"A week! No, no. Six months."
"Oh, six months be——"