"To be told I must wait six months more and then be sent about my business? Ah, Julia, Julia!" the young man groaned.
Something in this simple lament—it sounded natural and perfectly unstudied—seemed straightway to make a great impression on her. "You shall wait no longer," she said after a short silence.
"What do you mean by no longer?"
"Give me about five weeks—say till the Whitsuntide recess."
"Five weeks are a great deal," smiled Nick.
"There are things to be done—you ought to understand."
"I only understand how I love you."
She let herself go—"Dearest Nick!"—and he caught her and kept her in his arms.
"I've your promise then for five weeks hence to a day?" he demanded as she at last released herself.
"We'll settle that—the exact day; there are things to consider and to arrange. Come to luncheon to-morrow."