His face grew radiant. "You mean it, Ruth?"
"Yes," she said.
"A month?"
"Sooner."
"A week?"
"Sooner…. Sooner."
"To-morrow? You couldn't?… You don't mean—TO-MORROW?"
She nodded, for she was unable to speak
"Sweetheart," he cried, and again held out his arms.
She shook her head and drew back. "It's been so—so quick," she said. "And to-morrow comes so soon…. Not till then. I'll be your wife then—your WIFE."