“Yes, yes, I am! It isn't that. I did not know what I was saying when I refused to———”
“Oh, there you go, just like a woman!” he cried triumphantly. “Spoiling everything! You dear, lovable, inconsequent, regular girl! Hurray! Now we're back where we began, and I'm holding the whip. You bring me to my senses and then promptly lose your own.” He clasped her in his arms and held her close. “You dear, dear Lyddy!”
“I mean it, dear heart.” The whisper smothered in his embrace. “To-morrow—to-day, if you will. We will go away. We will———”
“No,” he said, quite resolutely; “you have shown me the way. I've just got to make good in your estimation before I can hold you to your promise. You're splendid, Lyddy; you're wonderful, but—well, I was unfair a while ago. I mean to be fair now. We'll wait. It's better so. I will come again and ask you, but it won't be as it was just now. It would not be right for me to take you at your word. We'll wait.”
Neither spoke for many minutes. It was she who broke the silence.
“You must promise one thing, Frederic. For my sake, avoid a quarrel with your father. I could not bear that. You will promise, dear? You must.”
“I don't intend to quarrel with him; but if I am to remain in his house there has got to be———” He paused, his jaw set stubbornly.
“Promise me you will wait. He is going away in two weeks. When he returns—later on—next fall———”
“Oh, if it really distresses you, Lyddy, I'll———”
“It does distress me. I want your promise.”