“Oh, it wouldn’t be for five years, Mammy!”
“You mustn’t think of binding yourself to anything of that sort at your age. Surely you’re sensible enough to know that you’re sure to change—”
“I never do. But don’t you see what a good idea it is? How it will keep me safe in the midst of all sorts of temptations which beset a handsome youth? I suppose I am a youth, aren’t I? Although no one ever called me one.”
“It’s not right to expect any girl to wait five years for you. And what makes you think you’ll be able to marry in five years, you silly boy? You’ve never earned a penny—”
“I’ll explain all that presently. Mammy, seriously, I’ve arranged my future in a very remarkable way.”
“And who on earth do you imagine will marry you, after waiting five years?”
“She is beautiful, good, and rich,” said Bertie. “She’s the daughter of the King of the Pastry-Cooks.”
“Who?”
“Her name is Giulia Santigiorni.”
“But who is she? An Italian?”