"Not till you promise to marry me to-morrow."
"To-morrow! I can't."
"Alright, then, I'll burn this place down," he produced a box of matches from his pocket.
"Don't be silly. Let me go, please."
"Never again!" He held a lighted match in his hand. "I'm willing to compromise; will you name the day?"
"This time next year."
"Absurd!" He held the match to some drapery stuff near, and watched it slowly kindle. "I'll give you till this time next month."
"Two months?" she pleaded.
"Alright," he said, crumpling up the cloth in his hands. He produced her mother's ring from his waistcoat pocket, and slipped it on her finger. "That's sealed then. What's the price of the curtain?"
"Five pounds," she said, as she disappeared through the door.