“Nearly two years,” he repeated. And to himself: “Impossible! I might weather six months, but two years—the creditors would laugh at me.”
“And I wish to go away at once,” she said with a long sigh, looking at him mournfully.
“I—we—can’t wait two years,” he replied.
“We needn’t, need we? We might——” she began, then halted, blushing vividly.
He pretended not to understand—though he did, for he had already thought of that plan.
“You know—I’m of age,” she went on, seeing that he was not going to help her out. “We—we needn’t wait for his consent.” He did not change expression, but he was saying to himself, “Here’s a mess. She’s so mad to get away that she’s ready to do anything.”
“I think he’d forgive us,” she went on. “But even if he didn’t, I’d never regret.”
He knew that he must say something, must say it quickly, and that it must be appreciative but noncommittal. “I couldn’t accept such a sacrifice,” he said. “It wouldn’t be decent to take advantage of you in that fashion. I know it sounds unromantic to say it, but, by Jove, I don’t go in for the sort of romance that makes a fellow a blackguard.” And he frankly told enough of his financial difficulties to make the situation clear to her. “I believe you can talk your father round,” he ended. “He thinks the world of you.”
Elsie smiled—melancholy and cynical. “Yes—so long as I don’t interfere. But I know how he feels about the Vice-Presidency. And that—that other affair has made him——” She shook her head.
This chilled Frothingham. “He’d never forgive her if she ran off with me and lost him the office,” he reflected. “Besides, I can’t afford to go in without settlements arranged beforehand. I must chuck it—quick as ever I can.”