"Oh, it would be horrible!" gasped the girl. "But there, we won't talk about it any more. It can't affect us, can it? England has nothing to do with Servians murdering an Austrian Archduke. I'm awfully sorry for the poor old Austrian Emperor, but—but——"
"It can't affect us, or our happiness," cried Bob, taking her outstretched hand. "No, thank God! but I say, Nancy, this is an awful commentary on what we were saying just now, isn't it? It makes me more than ever determined to throw myself into a movement that shall make war impossible. But oh, my dear girl, I do wish you'd let me speak to your father to-night! I want my happiness assured. I want everybody to know that I've won you—that you've promised to be my wife."
A thoughtful look came into her eyes. It might seem as though she were fighting a battle between inclination and judgment.
"No, Bob," she said at length, "it won't do. I'm sure dad wouldn't consent. The truth is——" she hesitated.
"What?" asked Bob eagerly.
"Dad's awfully fond of Captain Trevanion. I—I believe he's set his mind on it."
"On what? On your marrying him!"
"Now, don't be jealous."
"I'm not jealous. How could I be when"—he held her to him, and kissed her passionately—"when you've told me you love me."
"He'll be terribly mad when he knows at first. You see, he's always looked on you as a—well, to put it mildly, a useless bookworm. And he likes Hector Trevanion because, although he's a fool in many things, he's a good soldier. He says he's very young for a captain, and with his name and prospects—he'll be sure to be a major and afterwards a colonel in a very short time, especially if a war breaks out. And—and he's very ambitious for me. That's why I shall have to break it to him by degrees. I shall begin by talking about your successes at Oxford, and then I shall tell him that you are going to study for the Bar, as a preliminary to going into Parliament. You are so clever, that you won't be long before you are called to the Bar, will you?"