"How can anything come right for us? I don't want to think about it and I try ever so hard to keep it out of my thoughts. I'm so happy—meeting you—and loving you—and tomorrow never comes, but—"
"You mean how will this dear friendship end?" She nodded.
"How would you like it to end?"
Evie Colebrook poked the furrel of her sunshade into the grass and turned up a tuft of clover. "There is only one way it can ever end—happily," she said in a low voice, "and that is—well you know, Ronnie."
He laughed. "With you in a beautiful white dress and a beautiful white veil and a wreath of orange blossoms round your glorious hair, and a fat and nasty old man in a surplice reading a few passages from a book; and people leering at you as you go down the aisle and saying—well, you know what they say. I think a wedding is the most indelicate function which society affects."
She said nothing, but continued prodding at the turf. "It can be done quietly," she said at last.
Leaning toward her, he slipped his hand under her arm. "Evie, is love nothing?" he asked earnestly, "isn't it the biggest thing? What is the most decent, a wedding between two people who halfhate one another, but are marrying because one wants money and the other a swagger wife, or an everlasting love union between a man and a woman whom God has bound with bonds that a parson cannot strengthen or a snuffy judge cannot break?"
She sighed, the quick, double sigh of one half convinced.
"You make me feel that I'm common and—and brainless, and anyway, I don't want to talk about it. Ronnie, I suppose you're awfully busy this morning?" She looked wistfully at the big Rolls that was drawn up by the side of the road.
"I am rather," he said, "I wish I weren't. I'd love to drive you somewhere—anywhere so long as you were by my side, little fairy. When shall I see you again?"