"We may what, Jean-Joan?"
"Get married—"
"Before he goes?"
"Yes."
She leaned forward to get the full effect of his surprise, to watch the dawn of his delight.
But something else dawned. Embarrassment? Out of a bewildering silence she heard him say, "I am not sure, dear, that it will be best for us to marry before he goes."
She had a stunned feeling that, quite unaccountably, Derry was failing her. A shamed feeling that she had offered herself and had been rejected.
Something of this showed in her face. "My dear, my dear," he said, "let us go in. I can tell you better there."
Once more in the warm sitting room with the door shut behind them, he lifted her bodily in his arms. "Don't you know I want it," he whispered, tensely. "Tell me that you know—"
When he set her down, his own face showed the stress of his emotion. "You are always to remember this," he said, "that no matter what happens, I am yours, yours—always, till the end of time."