"Mavis!"
"Yes; I give you myself."
Perigal was silent for some minutes; he was, evidently, in deep thought. When he spoke, it was to say with deliberation:
"No, no, little Mavis. I may be bad; but I'm not up to that form—not yet."
"I love you all the more for saying that," she murmured.
"Since I can't move you, I'll go to Wales tomorrow," he said.
"Then that means—"
"Wait, wait, little Mavis; wait and hope."
"I shall never love anyone else."
"Not even Windebank?"