Allison here sat up and looked her lover full in the eye.
“Gerald, do you think it could be possible that you have made a mistake in what you have just told me?” she questioned.
“No, I am sure it would not be possible for me ever to love any one but you,” he earnestly returned.
“And do you think man capable of greater fidelity than woman?”
“N-o, perhaps not; still I will not exact any promise from you at present, Allison,” he gravely replied; “by and by, when you have completed your studies—when you have been out in society a while—when I have won my spurs, as the knights of old used to say—if you are then free, and of the same mind, I shall feel that I have a right to ask you to give yourself to me.”
“Oh, what a complicated and indefinite proposition!” said Allison, laughing, but with an impatient shrug of her graceful shoulders; “but what do you mean by ‘when you have won your spurs?’”
“Why, when I have made money enough to raise me above the suspicion of being a fortune-hunter,” was the smiling response.
“But suppose you do not achieve success by the time you have indicated?” queried Allison demurely.
“Then I suppose I must wait until I do,” with a sigh.
“Ah! I thought so,” she retorted saucily; “you are far too proud, my Gerald. Perhaps I am lacking in that quality, and I am very sure that I am not ‘morbidly conscientious,’ so I am going to make you promise me something, here and now.”