"To-morrow morning? I will come to-morrow morning? Can it be then?"
"Yes."
"I—I will see to everything. We'll be married, and then we will go away—somewhere. Where would you like to go, Ruth?"
"Anywhere…. I don't care. Anywhere."
"It 'll be my secret," he said, in his young blindness. "We'll start out—and you won't know where we're going. I sha'n't tell you. I'll pick out the best place in the world, if I can find it, and you won't know where we're going till we get there…. Won't that be bully?… I hate to go now, dear, but you're all out of sorts—and I'll have a heap of things to do—to get ready. So will you." He stopped and looked at her pleadingly, but she could not give him what his eyes asked; she could not give him her lips to-night…. He waited a moment, then, very gently, he took her hand and touched it with his lips.
"I'm patient," he said, softly. "You see how patient I am…. I can wait… when waiting will bring me so much…. At twelve o'clock? That's the swell hour," he laughed. "Shall I drag along a bishop or will an ordinary minister do?"
She tried to smile in response.
"Good night, dear," he said, and raised her hand again to his lips.
"Good night."
"Is that all?"