She was so definite that his face fell. At the sight of it she smiled and reassured him.
“I shan’t mind a bit not having any money.”
“Money’s a nuisance. But I want enough of it—I’ll earn enough of it to take you to Ireland with me, when I come back in six weeks.”
Her forehead was a little knit. He went on eagerly.
“I’ve never been so practical. You wouldn’t believe what a man of affairs—American affairs—I’ve been. I looked up the name of a little hamlet where we could go to-morrow afternoon and be married by sundown. And then, sweetheart, an eternity of a day before us—and immortality to look forward to.”
“And no one to know.”
“Unless you wish it—no one.”
“I don’t wish it. It sounds dangerous and mad—but if I don’t, Gregory, I know I’ll regret it all the rest of my life. It’s my chance to prove life. It’s not as if I had the faintest doubt of you—”
“Never have I been married,” he laughed, “I’m poor and that’s the worst of me. You can read all about me in the papers to-day. They tell the worst.”
“Freda, darling, I’ve always wanted to steal the secret of life. Come with me—and we can do it.”