"Phyllis! how can you be so unreasonable, so absurd?" says he, his face flushing. "Two years! It is an eternity. Say six months, if you will; though even that is a ridiculous delay."
"If you talk like that," I say, stopping to stare fixedly at him, "I will not marry you at all. We had better decide the question at once. If you mean to say you think seriously I will marry you in six months, all I can say is, you are very much mistaken. I would not marry the Prince of Wales in six months; there! If you once mention the subject to papa, and he discovers I do not wish to be hurried into the marriage, I have no doubt, he will insist on my becoming a bride in six days. But rather than submit to any tyranny in the matter I would run away and drown myself."
I utter this appalling threat with every outward demonstration of seriousness. Really the last hour has developed in a wonderful manner my powers of conversation.
"Do you suppose," cried Marmaduke, with indignation, "I have any desire to force you into anything? You may rest assured I will never mention the subject to your father. What do you take me for? You shall do just as you think fit. But, Phyllis, darling"—very tenderly, "won't you consider me a little? Remember how I shall be longing for you, and how unhappy will be every day spent away from you. Oh, darling, you cannot comprehend how every thought of my heart is wrapped up in you—how passionate and devoted is my love."
He looks so handsome, so much in earnest, as he says this, with his face flushed and his dark eyes alight, that I feel myself relenting. He sees his advantage and presses it.
"You won't be cruel, darling, will you? Remember you have all the power in your own hands. I would not, if I could, compel you to marry me a day sooner than you wish. And, Phyllis, will you not try to think it is for your happiness as well as for mine? In time you will learn to love me as well—no, that would be impossible—but almost as well as I love you. The entire devotion of a man's life must meet with some return; and I swear it shall not be my fault if every hour you spend is not happier than the last. Speak, Phyllis, and say you will come to me in—-"
"A year," I interrupt, hastily. "Yes, that is a great concession; I said three years first, and now by a word I take off two. That is twenty-four long months. Think of it. You cannot expect more."
"It will never pass," says Marmaduke, desperately.
"It will pass, all too soon," say I, with a heavy sigh.