"Let them to somebody. That's all right, Beaver. The house and the furniture can't run away."
"No, but they'll never be the same again."
Nothing would ever be the same again; that was clear. The flowers were still gay in the Broad Walk, and the children, though a little sleepier, were still adorable; but Flossie did not turn to look at them as she passed. Would she ever look at them, at anything, with pleasure again? He had made life very difficult, very cruel to this poor child, whom after all he had promised to protect and care for.
"I say, Beaver dear, it is hard luck on you."
The look and the tone would have softened most women, at least for the time being; but the Beaver remained implacable.
"I'll try to make it easier for you. I'll work like mad. I'll do anything to shorten the time."
"Shorten the time? You don't know how many years you're asking me to wait."
"I'm not asking you to wait. I'm asking you to choose."
"Do you want me to do it now?"
"No, certainly not." She was not indeed in a mood favourable to choice; and he would not influence her decision. It was mean to urge her to an arduous constancy; meaner still to precipitate her refusal. "You must think. You can, you know, when you give your mind to it."