mean that I'd marry her, or think of it. There isn't anybody but
you. There couldn't be, you know that."

"Why did you tell me, then?" she asked haughtily.

"Because--I had to begin somewhere. Polly, I'm going away,
going abroad. And I'm not to see you for--for I don't know how
long--and--we must be married!"

She looked at him in a daze.

"We can cross on the ferry at half-past ten," he went on.
"You see that house--the white one?" He pointed to the other
bank of the river where a white cottage shrank among the trees
not far from a little church. "Mr. Barker lives there--you must
have heard of him. He's married scores and hundreds of couples
from this side. And we can be back here at half-past
eleven--twelve at the latest."

She shook her head expressed, not determination, only doubt.

"I can't, Jack," she said. "They----"

"Then you aren't certain you're ever going to marry me," he
interrupted bitterly. "You don't mean what you promised me.
You care more for them than you do for me. You don't really care
for me at all."

"You don't believe that," she protested, her eyes and her mind
on the little white cottage. "You couldn't--you know me too