"Théo is very impatient," she answered in a low voice; "he wants me to set our wedding-day. And—I have to make up my mind, you know—I thought as you and I had talked it over before dinner, you would not mind—casting the die for us."
There was a pause while Joyselle deliberately moved beyond the radius of the light.
Théo did not move, but his immobility was the motionlessness of extreme tension. He had not observed the discrepancy in her story, Brigit saw, and was simply waiting.
It seemed many minutes before Joyselle spoke. Then he said briskly, "The pros and cons are many, Théo. Brigit will tell you them later. And there are—clothes to be got, are there not? And I must go away in a few days—to Madrid, and shall be gone three weeks. It might be well for you to marry at once, say early in June, or—you might wait until the autumn."
He lit a cigarette and Brigit drew a deep breath of relief. Thank God, he was hedging, and could not make up his mind.
"I do not wish to wait," announced Théo, with unexpected and terrible decision. "I can see no reason for it, père. Brigit, let it be early in June."
Joyselle's match fell to the floor, and his cigarette was still unlit.
"I think I have been patient," pursued the young man, his voice trembling a little. "Ah, father, I love her, and I want my wife."
Joyselle's arm jerked and the unlit cigarette flew out into the darkness. "You are right," he began abruptly, but Brigit drew nearer to him and in the darkness laid her hand on his.
"He is right in one way, Beau-père" she said, grasping his hand with spasmodic strength, "and I am a brute, but I should so much rather wait a little longer. I have reasons, Théo."