“It won’t be anything like ten years, you silly boy! At the end of the year, when you—”
“Yes, and do you know what’s going to happen then? They’re going to send me to Europe, with Preble, for two months.”
“Oh!” cried Edith.
For a moment she was silent, overcome by this news. Then she made a gallant attempt at a reasonable, calm, businesslike manner.
“But, after all—two months!” she said.
Her smile was a very poor one, and her voice betrayed her. Instead of helping her, Hardy became unmanageable.
“Look here!” he said. “September, October, November—that’s three months that we can have lunch together. Then I’ll be away for December and January: so perhaps after five months I may have a chance to—kiss you once more, if your aunt doesn’t mind. Five whole months, and you won’t let me see you alone for five minutes!”
“Oh, Joe, darling! Do be reasonable!”
“You’re a little too reasonable,” said he. “If you really cared for me—”
There is no better way to begin a quarrel than with those classic words. Edith grew angry, but her anger was such a mild little thing compared to Hardy’s that she took refuge in flight, and left him sitting alone in the restaurant. All was over!