“See here, Rearton,—what folly are you about to engage in?”
“My dear boy, it's not folly! If what I expect happens, I shall be able to gratify a rational desire to read the future,—my own particularly.”
“When you do,” I burst out, “I hope I'll be there to see how the thing's done!”
“That's exactly the favor I'm asking.”
We sat silently looking at each other for a moment. I felt vaguely that my friend was not the man for such experiments. He was far too likely to be the dupe of another's cunning, being sensitive almost to the verge of weakness, essentially a dreamer with all a dreamer's love of the unreal.
“What does Miss Kent say?—does she know?” I asked.
“Miss Kent is quite willing.”
“Probably she agrees with me that it's all a pack of nonsense.”
“There you're mistaken,” he said quickly.
“Faith,—supreme faith,—must be dominant in her character then. Few women would care to have the man they expect to marry forestall time in the fashion you propose.”