"To-morrow is Sunday. But it seems as though you might get ready to take the noon train on Tuesday."
She thought he was merely carrying her dream a little farther than she had ever ventured to carry it herself. So she looked at him with a smile checked half-way by the beauty of the fantasy.
"It's too good a'most to dream about," she sighed.
"It is n't a dream," he answered, "unless it is a dream come true. Pack up such things as you wish to take with you and be ready to leave at noon Tuesday."
"Peter Donaldson!"
"I 'm in earnest," he assured her.
"Peter, Peter, it can't be true! I can't believe it!"
There were tears in her eyes.
"Hush," he pleaded. "Don't—don't do that. Sit down. Had n't you better sit down?"
She obeyed as meekly as a child, her hands clasped in her lap.