I had wished him luck with Monica in the flippant way one does, when he said,—
'Meg, I'll almost believe in Him if I get her. I shan't care how soon I stop a bullet if I don't.'
'Oh, Charlie,' I exclaimed, holding out my hands to him, 'don't be diffident with her. You know Monica likes her mind made up for her. She always used to let you do it.'
'No, Meg,' he said, 'not about this. She must come to me willingly or not at all.'
But I am frightened for them. I know Monica's irresolution. He will be diffident and seem almost indifferent because he wants her so desperately, and she will be 'difficult' and will forget that it's just his way. She won't know her own mind till afterwards. Sometimes in these war days there is no 'afterwards.'
When we got back from the station Ross presented me with four threepenny bits.
'The charge for the delivery of each package from the station,' he said, 'is threepence.'
'How interesting,' I replied, pocketing the money, 'but I'm not expecting any parcels.'
'Oh, yes, you are, Meg, last night I wrote to four of our relatives and told them you were taking a house—an old one—and that contributions of seventeenth century furniture would be gratefully received.'
'Ross, how could you?' I gasped.