_Harold._ Well, that would depend on circumstances. You don't suppose I would postpone it for a second, if I could help it; but--Until my return? I hope sincerely that it can be managed then, but, you see, over there I shall be spending money all the time, and not earning a sou, and--and so we _might_ have to wait a little bit longer, just until I could replenish the locker, until I had published and been paid for my new book. _Lucy._ But I have given notice to leave at midsummer. _Harold._ Has Mrs. Duncan got another governess! _Lucy._ No, but---- _Harold._ Then you can stop on, can't you! They will surely be only too delighted to keep you. _Lucy._ Yes--I can stop on. [_He tries to kiss her._] No, don't; not now. _Harold._ And you don't really mind the postponement very much, do you? _Lucy._ Not if it will assist you. _Harold._ I thought you would say that, I knew you would. It will assist me very much. I shouldn't otherwise suggest it. It does seem too bad though, doesn't it? To have to postpone it after waiting all these years, and just as it was so near, too. I have a good mind not to go, after all--only, if I let this chance slip, I may never have another. Besides, six months is not so very long, is it? And when they are over, then we won't wait any longer. You will come and see me off, won't you? It would never do for an engaged man to go away for even six months, without his lady love coming to see him start. _Lucy._ Yes, I will come. When do you go? _Harold._ The end of next week, I expect; perhaps earlier if I can manage it. But I shall see you before then. We'll go and have dinner together at our favourite little restaurant. When shall it be! Let me see, I am engaged on--I can't quite remember what my engagements are. _Lucy._ I have none. _Harold._ Then that's settled. Good-bye, Luce; you don't mind very much, do you? The time will soon pass. You are a little brick to behave as you have done. [_Going._] It will be Monday or Tuesday next for our dinner, but I will let you know. Good-bye. _Lucy._ Good-bye. Thirty Years elapse between Scene II. and Scene III. Scene III--Lucy Rimmerton, Agnes Rimmerton (her niece) _A well-furnished comfortable room in_ Lucy Rimmerton's _house. She is seated in front of the fire, in an easy-chair, reading. The door opens, without her noticing it, and_ Agnes _comes in, closes the door gently, crosses the room, and bends over her_. _Agnes._ A happy New Year to you, Aunt Luce. _Lucy._ What! Agnes, is that you? I never heard you come in. I really think I must be getting deaf. _Agnes._ What nonsense! I didn't intend you should hear me. I wanted to wish you a happy New Year first. _Lucy._ So as to make your Aunt play second fiddle. The same to you, dear. _Agnes._ Thank you. [_Warms her hands at the fire._] Oh, it _is_ cold; not here I mean, but out of doors; the thermometer is down I don't know how many degrees below freezing.