“Not till September, I think. It’s been put off.”
“You won’t be lonely then,” he said. “According to what people say, marriage is a very queer business. They say it’s different from anything else. It may be true. I’ve known one or two cases where it seems to be true.” He hoped that she would go on with the subject. But she made no reply. He had done his best to master himself, and his voice was sufficiently indifferent, but her silence tormented him. She would never speak to him of Rodney of her own accord, and her reserve left a whole continent of her soul in darkness.
“It may be put off even longer than that,” she said, as if by an afterthought. “Some one in the office is ill, and William has to take his place. We may put it off for some time in fact.”
“That’s rather hard on him, isn’t it?” Ralph asked.
“He has his work,” she replied. “He has lots of things that interest him.... I know I’ve been to that place,” she broke off, pointing to a photograph. “But I can’t remember where it is—oh, of course it’s Oxford. Now, what about your cottage?”
“I’m not going to take it.”
“How you change your mind!” she smiled.
“It’s not that,” he said impatiently. “It’s that I want to be where I can see you.”
“Our compact is going to hold in spite of all I’ve said?” she asked.
“For ever, so far as I’m concerned,” he replied.