"Not cigars. My humble pipe and pouch can stow themselves away anywhere. I only smoke cigars out hunting, and I keep a box or two in the saddle-room for handiness. No, this is to be your room, Suzette. I have imagined you in it until it seems so to belong to you that I feel I am taking a liberty in writing a letter here. When are you going to bring the Dresden bow-wows, and the elephants, and mice, and lobsters, and donkeys?—all about of a size, by the way."
"Oh, I could not possibly spare them," Suzette answered quickly, making for the door.
They had come in to look at the room, and for Suzette to give her opinion as to the colour and style of the new papering. It was to be a Morris paper, although that would entail new carpet and curtains, and a complete revolution as to colouring.
"Spare them!" echoed Allan, detaining her. "Who wants you to spare them? When will you bring them with you? When are you coming to take possession of the house which is no home for me until you are mistress of it?"
This was by no means the first time the question had been asked. Again and again had Allan pleaded that his marriage might be soon. There was no reason why he should wait for his wife. His position was established, his house was ready; a house as well found as that flagship had been on whose quarter-deck the Admiral had moved as a king. Why should he wait? He could never love his future wife more dearly than he loved her now. All the framework of his life would be out of gear till he had brought her home to the house which seemed joyless and empty for want of her.
"When is it to be, Suzette? When am I to be completely happy?"
"What, are you not happy, par exemple? You talked about overwhelming happiness when I said 'Yes.'"
"That was the promise of happiness. It lifted me to the skies; but it was only the promise. I am pining for the realization. I want you all to myself—to have and to hold for ever and ever; beside my hearth; interwoven with my life; mine always and always; no longer a bright, capricious spirit, glancing about me like a gleam of sunshine, and vanishing like the sunbeam; but a woman—my very own—of one mind and of one heart with me. Suzette, if you love me, you will not spin out the time of dreams; you will give yourself to me really and for ever."
There was an earnestness in his tone that scared her. The blushes faded from her cheeks, and she looked at him, pale and startled, and sudden tears rushed to her eyes.
"You said you would give me time," she faltered; "time to know you better—to be certain." And then recovering her gaiety in an instant—"Now, Allan, it is too bad of you. Did I not tell you that I would not be married till my one-and-twentieth birthday? Why do you tease me to alter the date? Surely you don't want to marry an infant."