_Harold._ There, don't make a scene--don't, there's a good girl. There, rest your head here. I suppose I am nasty. I didn't mean it, really. You must make allowances for me. I am worried and bothered. I can't work--at least I can't do work that satisfies me--and altogether I am not quite myself. Late hours are playing the very deuce with my nerves. There, let me kiss away the tears--now give me your promise that you will never be so foolish again. _Lucy._ I--I promise. It is silly of me--now I am all right. _Harold._ Giboulées d'Avril! The sun comes out once more, the shower is quite over. _Lucy._ Yes, quite over; you always are so kind. It is my fault entirely. I--I think my nerves must be a little upset, too. _Harold._ We shall make a nice couple, shan't we? if we are often going to behave like this! Now, are you quite calm? _Lucy._ Yes, quite. _Harold._ That's right, because I want you to listen patiently for a few minutes to what I am going to say; it is something I want to talk to you about very seriously. You won't interrupt me until I have quite finished, will you? _Lucy._ What is it? not that--no, I won't. _Harold._ You know we talked about--I mean it was arranged we should be married the beginning of July--wasn't it? _Lucy._ Yes. _Harold._ Well, I want to know if you would mind very much putting it off a little--quite a little--only till the autumn? I'll tell you why. Of course if you _do_ mind very much, I sha'n't press it, but--it's like this: the scene of my new book is, as you know, laid abroad. I have been trying to write it, but can't get on with it one little bit. I want some local colour. I thought I should be able to invent it, I find I can't. It is hampering and keeping me back terribly. And so--and so I thought if you didn't mind very much that--that if I were to go to France for--for six months or so--alone, that--in fact it would be the making of me. I have never had an opportunity before; it has always been grind, grind, grind, and if I am prevented from going now, I may never have a chance again. What do you say? _Lucy._ But why shouldn't we be married as arranged, and spend our honeymoon over there? _Harold._ Because I want to work. _Lucy._ And would my being there prevent you? You used to say you always worked so much better when I was---- _Harold._ But you don't understand. This is different. I want to work _hard_, and no man could do that on his honeymoon--at least I know I couldn't. _Lucy._ No, but--And--and till when did you want to put off our--our marriage? Until your return?