"No, but really, wouldn't it be tragic? I shouldn't like a wet honeymoon, should you? Hadn't we better wait till August? Or shall you be wanting to go to Scotland?"
"No," he said. "I am not going to Scotland this year."
His eyes were still upon her, gravely watchful, but they expressed nothing of impatience or exasperation. Very quietly he waited.
"Shall we say August, then?" said Chris, in a small, shy voice, not looking at him.
"Will your aunt remain in town for August?" he asked.
"But we are not obliged to be married in town," she pointed out.
"Nor are we obliged to have a honeymoon, Chris," he said. "Shall we say
St. Swithin's Day, and forego the honeymoon—if it rains?"
"Go straight home, you mean?" She turned back to him eagerly. "Oh,
Trevor, I should like that! I do want to superintend everything there.
Yes, let's do that, shall we? I always did think honeymoons were rather
silly, didn't you?"
He smiled in spite of himself. "I daresay they are—from some points of view. It is settled, then—St. Swithin's Day?"
She nodded. "Yes. And we will go straight to Kellerton afterwards, and work—like niggers. It won't matter a bit then whether it rains or not. And Noel can spend his holidays with us and help. How busy we shall be!"