“Good God!” exclaimed Alfred, who was somewhat given to strong language, as many weak men are. “Good God, Regina, you have taken my breath away!”
“I wasn’t proposing to be engaged to you for seven years, Alfie dear,” she said to him, with an indulgent air. “Oh no. I always thought that father and mother made such a mistake, although you couldn’t get mother to own it.”
“I should think so, indeed. Seven years! Seven months is nearer my idea of the proper time for being engaged.”
“Seven months? Oh, that would be too soon. I couldn’t possibly get my things ready.”
“Oh, things,” said he, with a manly disregard of chiffons which appealed to Regina as nothing else would have done.
“I must have things, Alfie.”
“Yes, darling, I know you must. And I don’t say that a good start-out wouldn’t be very useful to us; but you won’t spin it out too long, will you?”
“I never was brought up to sew,” said Regina, “I am learning now.”
“Can’t you buy ’em ready-made?”
“They don’t last,” said Regina. “And mother’s idea of the trousseau is to give me three dozen of everything. And they’ve all got to be made. I’m sewing white seams now, although I can’t cut out and plan. Look at my finger.”