“About you, of course,” she answered, brightly. “There are things I want to say; and yet--I ought not to.” “You can say anything on earth to me,” he answered. “You are twenty-four,” she began, musingly. “Admitted at once.” “And I'm twenty-one and a half.” “That's no such awful revelation, surely!” “And we've been engaged ever since my birthday,” the girl pursued. “All these are facts, dearest.” “Now, Ross, will you be perfectly frank with me? May I ask you an--an impertinent question?” “You may ask me any question you like; it couldn't be impertinent.” “You'll be scandalised, I know--but--well, here goes. What would you think if Madeline--or any of the girls--should go away to work?” He looked at her lovingly, but with a little smile on his firm mouth. “I shouldn't allow it,” he said. “O--allow it? I asked you what you'd think.” “I should think it was a disgrace to the family, and a direct reproach to me,” he answered. “But it's no use talking about that. None of the girls have any such foolish notion. And I wouldn't permit it if they had.” Diantha smiled. “I suppose you never would permit your wife to work?” “My widow might have to--not my wife.” He held his fine head a trifle higher, and her hand ached for a moment. “Wouldn't you let me work--to help you, Ross?” “My dearest girl, you've got something far harder than that to do for me, and that's wait.” His face darkened again, and he passed his hand over his forehead. “Sometimes I feel as if I ought not to hold you at all!” he burst out, bitterly. “You ought to be free to marry a better man.” “There aren't any!” said Diantha, shaking her head slowly from side to side. “And if there were--millions--I wouldn't marry any of 'em. I love _you,”_ she firmly concluded. “Then we'll just _wait,”_ said he, setting his teeth on the word, as if he would crush it. “It won't be hard with you to help. You're better worth it than Rachael and Leah together.” They walked a few steps silently. “But how about science?” she asked him. “I don't let myself think of it. I'll take that up later. We're young enough, both of us, to wait for our happiness.” “And have you any idea--we might as well face the worst--how many years do you think that will be, dearest?” He was a little annoyed at her persistence. Also, though he would not admit the thought, it did not seem quite the thing for her to ask. A woman should not seek too definite a period of waiting. She ought to trust--to just wait on general principles. “I can face a thing better if I know just what I'm facing,” said the girl, quietly, “and I'd wait for you, if I had to, all my life. Will it be twenty years, do you think?” He looked relieved. “Why, no, indeed, darling. It oughtn't to be at the outside more than five. Or six,” he added, honest though reluctant.