“I think anything else would have been wonderful. It seems to me the most natural thing in the world. I shall always hear, when you call me, Allan.”
“Will you? Well, we’ll see. When are we going to get married, Mamie?”
“Oh,” she said, and pulled herself away, and sat upright, with flaming cheeks. “Not for a long time—two years, anyway. You know, I’m only seventeen.”
“You thought that was a great age, not so very long ago.”
“It doesn’t seem so great now—and since we know we love each other, what does anything else matter?”
“It matters a good deal. I’ll see about it just as soon as I can get about.”
“Do you know,” she said, looking down at him critically, “I believe you’re something of a tyrant?”
“I know I am,” he laughed, joyously; “I’m a good deal of a tyrant. You’ll see!”
“Maybe I won’t marry you after all!”
“I’m not afraid. You’re dying for me—come now, own up.”