“I shall bring a breach of promise against you,” said Frederic, “if you don’t appear in church with bridal array on Monday, the 12th of January, and pay the penalty into the war-treasury. That would be a spoiling of the Amalekite.”
Then he got hold of the fingers which had pinched him.
“Of course I sha’n’t put it off, unless you agree.”
“Of course you won’t.”
“But, dear Fred, don’t you think we ought?”
“No; certainly not. If I thought you were in earnest I would scold you.”
“I am in earnest, quite. You need not look in that way, for you know very well how truly I love you. You know I want to be your wife above all things.”
“Do you?”
And then he began to insinuate his arm round her waist; but she got up and moved away, not as in anger at his caress, but as showing that the present moment was unfit for it.
“I do,” she said, “above all things. I love you so well that I could hardly bear to see you go away again without taking me with you. I could hardly bear it—but I could bear it.”