“I see, then, I may hope.”
“Why, not exactly—but there will be no occasion to take laudanum.”
“Not a drop, my dear fellow, depend upon it.”
“There is no saying what may come to pass, you see, Tom: two, or three, or four years may—”
“Four years—that’s a very long time.”
“Nothing to a man sincerely in love.”
“No, nothing—that’s very true.”
“So all you have to do is to follow up your profession quietly and steadily, and wait and see what time may bring forth.”
“So I will—I’ll wait twenty years, if that’s all.”
I wished Tom good bye, thinking that it was probable that he would wait a great deal longer; but at all events, he was pacified and contented for the time, and there would be no great harm done, even if he did continue to make the widow the object of his passion for a year or two longer. It would keep him out of mischief, and away from Anny Whistle.