“That’s so good of you,” said Bertha, squeezing his hand, and giving him a look that filtered through his being with a wild deliciousness. “Only take me to Paris, and then I will come and stay in Australia for ever and ever.”
“And when shall we get married, Bertha?” inquired Alec, thinking the moment a propitious one. “When is the day to be?”
“What do you want to be in such a hurry for? Are we not very nice as we are? I am sure it is beautiful to walk in the Gardens every day.”
“I don’t say no, Bertha; but I am always afraid some one will run off with you again, and next time I might not be able to find you.”
“I am very careful, Alec, now. I never go out after dark, and as for going in a cab, I believe I shall always hate the sight of them.”
“You had better make sure; marry me and done with it.”
“There you go again. I never heard of any one so impatient. This is the best time in our lives, if we only knew it. We are young and free, no cares, no troubles. Let us live and enjoy as we are for a little while. And a girl’s youth goes away so quickly. I wonder, Alec, if you will think as much of me when I am old and ugly?”
“You ugly?” said Alec derisively.
“Well, not perhaps quite ugly, but you know well enough that here in Australia girls fade very quickly. I dread to think what I shall be like in ten years’ time—all wrinkles and grey hairs, with no more figure than a post, no doubt. Oh! I want to keep young always, always, and never get old at all. Don’t you, Alec?”
“I can’t say I ever thought much about it. If a three-year-old would always remain a three-year-old it would be a great chuck-in, no doubt-that is, if they did not raise the weight. But I guess there is not much show of getting the soft side of the handicapper. We all have to carry weight-for-age.”