"And what's that, aunt?" Alice, as she asked the question, well knew what that one thing was.
"I'll come for your marriage, my dear. I do hope you will not keep me long waiting."
"Ah! I can't make any promise. There's no knowing when that may be."
"And why should there be no knowing? I always think that when a girl is once engaged the sooner she's married the better. There may be reasons for delay on the gentleman's part."
"There very often are, you know,"
"But, Alice, you don't mean to say that Mr. Grey is putting it off?"
Alice was silent for a moment, during which Lady Macleod's face assumed a look of almost tragic horror. Was there something wrong on Mr. Grey's side of which she was altogether unaware? Alice, though for a second or two she had been guilty of a slight playful deceit, was too honest to allow the impression to remain. "No, aunt," she said; "Mr. Grey is not putting it off. It has been left to me to fix the time."
"And why don't you fix it?"
"It is such a serious thing! After all it is not more than four months yet since I—I accepted him. I don't know that there has been any delay."
"But you might fix the time now, if he wishes it."