“It makes me feel that I don't belong to myself any longer.”
“Well, you've passed into good hands,” he said, and laughed his great, vibrant laugh. “Costing me money already, you mite!”
A little of her exaltation died then. But perhaps men were like that, shyly covering the things they felt deepest.
She was rather surprised when he suggested keeping the engagement a secret.
“Except the Doyles, of course,” he said. “I am not taking any chances on losing you, child.”
“Not mother?”
“Not unless you want to be kidnaped and taken home. It's only a matter of a day or two, anyhow.”
“I want more time than that. A month, anyhow.”
And he found her curiously obstinate and determined. She did not quite know herself why she demanded delay, except that she shrank from delivering herself into hands that were so tender and might be so cruel. It was instinctive, purely.
“A month,” she said, and stuck to it.