"Mignonette, when may I put it on again?"
There seemed to be difficulty in Faith's answering. Probably she was making up her mind to speak, but he had to wait for her words to be ready. He waited quietly, as if he expected it; looking down at the hand he held, and saying nothing unless by the clasp of its little fingers.
"Do you know where you are going yet Endy?"—she said in a very low voice.
"No, darling—not certainly."
"Then—do you want to know this yet?"
"Very much."
Faith had expected no less; she had had fair warning; and besides in her heart could not but confess that Mr. Linden had reason. Little as she might care to disturb the existing state of things, which to her mind was pleasant enough, it was clear that his mind on the subject was different; and she could not find fault with that. There was a pause again, of quiet waiting on one side and great difficulty of utterance on the other, and the words when they came were in the lowest possible key.
"What do you wish?"
"What I have been waiting for all these years."
"But as to time?"