“Well, I suggested then that we should be married in six weeks. I’m afraid it sounds very ungallant if I propose now that we should wait a little.”
“How long?” she asked quietly.
“Oh, I don’t know—perhaps a year, two at the utmost. You see, I’m not exactly hard up, but——” He hesitated again, for once in his life at a loss for words. “The fact is I don’t see how we can possibly marry till I get a bishopric. I’m practically certain to get one soon—there’s no one with half the claims I have, and I think I can boast of a certain amount of influence.”
“Two years is a long time at our age,” she smiled. “Especially for a woman. You know, even now, you’re ever so much younger in spirit than I am; I’m afraid that each day will increase the difference between us.”
He paused for the very shortest space of time.
“Of course, if you’d rather marry at once, I shall be only too charmed. It will make me the happiest of men. It was only on your account that I hesitated. I’m afraid that you’ll have to do without a good many of the luxuries that you’re used to.”
“It’s very thoughtful of you,” she murmured.
“I’m afraid we shan’t be able to have a carriage.”
“You know, I adore riding on ’buses,” she answered, with twinkling eyes. “One sits on the front seat and talks to the driver.”
“And then I’m afraid there’ll be no more little trips to Homburg in the summer or to the Riviera in the winter.”