‘And you will then be twenty-four?’
‘Yes.’
Maud looked at him, and he looked at her, and then she broke into a little soft laugh.
‘You dear old Phil, you are so handsome! I wish I could marry you!’
A curious thrill ran through Tor, and his eyes were eloquent, but he only answered coolly enough:
‘But as you cannot—what then, Maud?’
‘I don’t know,’ she answered; and her face took the spoilt-child expression which thoughts of Lewis Belassis almost always brought.
‘You have not made up your mind?’
‘No; I can’t.’
‘But it will be expected of you soon, will it not?’