"Women in love are weak—they will consent to almost anything," said she, her dark eyes smiling for an instant into his.
Why didn't he take her in his arms? Hope deferred maketh the heart sick, but to defer the consummation of a joy assured (observes the Persian poet) giveth the heart a peculiar sweet excitement.
"Well," said John. "I'm glad to think she is weak; but I'll never ask my wife to consent to anything so unpleasant. A Princess and a future peeress, living on six hundred pounds a year! It's unheard of."
She looked at him, puzzled, incredulous.
"Oh—? Can you possibly mean—that you will—take back your condition?"
"Yes," said he, humbly. "Who am I to make conditions?"
"You will let her spend as much of her own money as she likes?" she wondered, wide-eyed.
"As a lover of thrift, I shall deprecate extravagance," said John. "But as a submissive husband, I shall let her do in all things as her fancy dictates."
"Well," marvelled she, "here is a surprise—here is a volte-face indeed."
And she looked at the city in the sky, and appeared to turn things over.