"Yes."
"Then we are all right—or we soon shall be."
They strolled a little longer over the soft turf, in the soft light.
"We are not quite all right," said Eleanor; "for you think I will do—what I will not."
"What is that?"
"I have not agreed to your arrangements."
"You will."
"Do not think it, Macintosh. I will not."
He looked down at her, smiling, not in the least disconcerted. She had spoken no otherwise than gently, and with more secret effort than she would have liked him to know.
"You shall say that for half the time between now and Christmas," he said; "and after that you will adopt another form of expression."