'My brave little soldier's wife! But suppose we grow tired of each other?'
'You wicked wag!—why think of such a thing?'
'Married folks do sometimes,' said he, laughing.
'Then we should part—I would run away.'
'As a preliminary to that we must be united, Dulcie; so when will you be ready to marry me?'
'Oh, Florian!'
'You must say—we have little time to lose.'
'I have no trousseau to get—and no money for it—we are so poor, Florian.'
'But rich in love—well then—when?'
'I don't know,' was the shy, coy answer.