“He’ll love it.”
“Then—listen. I shall tell him—later. I’ll tell him that I always prayed that when I married I wouldn’t have to have the eyes of the world on the coming of my bride. That my wedding should be secret and holy. If we could tell him without the rest knowing—but he would tell your mother, wouldn’t he?”
“And mother would want a wedding,” said Freda, a little drearily.
He leaned across to touch her hand.
“You don’t think it’s furtive—clandestine?”
“Oh, no!”
“Do you want me to go?”
“No—”
“I must go on, you see—those damned lectures. I must have the money. And I must go through to Spokane. I could ask you to wait until I got back but, darling—what’s the use of waiting? What’s the use of waiting? We could be married to-morrow—and have Sunday together. Then—then—we could wait for each other. Or you could come with me—”
“No, we couldn’t, Gregory. It’s too expensive. You know we couldn’t.”