“And where should you like to go for the honey-moon, dearest?” asked Norman, when they were discussing their marriage some weeks later. “Paris is very nice; so would Florence be just now—rather hot, perhaps—then there’s Switzerland.”
“You don’t care where you go?” asked Lilias in a muffled voice. It is difficult to speak distinctly with your face half hidden against a gentleman’s breast.
“Not in the very least,” he responded, promptly; “so that you go with me. You’ve only got to choose your place, from Greenland’s icy mountains to Afric’s golden sands, and I’m your man.”
“Really? How good and unselfish you are, Norman, dear!”
“I am—I am!” he assented. “It is my only failing, and I have suffered from it since my birth. We will go wherever you please.”
She was silent a moment, then she whispered:
“When does Varley go back to Three Star?” It will be noticed that she called him “Varley.” Now, a girl like Lilias must be very fond of a person to call him by his Christian name.
“Just after the wedding; he stays for that. Why? You don’t mean to say—”
“Yes, I do,” murmured Lilias. “We will go with him, Norman. We will spend our honey-moon at Three Star.”