"And now," he said, taking her into his arms again, "you're going to be happy all the rest of your life, if I can make you so. If I don't you'll tell me, won't you?"
"I can't promise," she murmured, shyly, to his coat sleeve. "I must go now, it's getting late."
"Not until you've told me when you'll marry me. To-morrow?"
"Oh, no!" cried Rosemary. "Not to-morrow."
"Why not?"
"It's—it's too soon."
"In a week, then?"
"I—I don't know. I'll see."
"Make it very soon, my dear, will you?"
"Yes—just as soon as I can."