She looked at him in surprise. "Won't you dine with me?"
"No," he said restlessly. "I won't come in. I should stifle under a roof to-night."
"But we will dine outside," she said.
He shook his head. "No, I'm going. Anne," he caught her hand to his lips,
"I hate leaving you. How long must I be condemned to it?"
She touched his shoulder with her cheek. "Don't you know that I hate it too?" she said.
"Then—" He put his arm round her.
"Next week, Nap," she said.
"You mean it?"
"Yes. I mean it."
"You will marry me next week. What day?"