She was trembling a little in his hold. "He—doesn't want to marry me yet, does he?" she asked, nervously.
He put a very gentle hand upon her head. "Don't funk the last fence, old girl!" he said, softly. "You'll like being married."
"Ah!" She was breathing quickly. "I am not so sure. And there's no getting back, is there, Jack? Oh, please, do ask him to wait a little while! I'm sure he will. He is very kind."
"He has waited five years already," Jack pointed out. "Don't you think that's almost long enough, dear?"
She put a hand to her throat, feeling as if there were some constriction there. "He has been speaking to you about it! He wants you to—to persuade me—to—to make me—"
"No, dear, no!" Jack spoke very gravely. "He wants you to please yourself. It is I who think that a long delay would be a mistake. Can't you be brave, Dot? Take what the gods send—and be thankful?"
She tried to laugh. "I'm an awful idiot, Jack. Yes, I will—I will be brave. After all, it isn't as if—as if I were really sacrificing anything, is it? And you're sure he's a good man, aren't you? You are sure he will never let me down?"
"I am quite sure," Jack said, firmly. "He is a fine man, Dot, and he will always set your happiness before his own."
She breathed a short sigh. "Thank you, Jack, I feel better. You're wonderfully good to me, dear old boy. Tell him—tell him I'll marry him as soon as ever I can get ready! I must get a few things together first, mustn't I?"
Jack laughed a little. "You look very nice in what you've got."