Marvin. Suppose we say two years."

Harry staggered back as if from a blow. Two years! How preposterous!
He couldn't live that long without Pauline. In vain he hurled his
protests and objections. She stood, sweet, unruffled, sympathetic, but
as firm as the Rocky Mountains. The old man listened to the debate for
some time without comment. Then he pressed a button on his desk.

In answer came Raymond Owen, the secretary. He had shown the good
taste to retire from the library as soon as the conversation became
personal. From the vantage point of a room across the hall he had been
quietly listening, and decided it a rather unfruitful piece of
eavesdropping. He appeared the faithful, deferent employee in every
line as he entered.

"Come here, Raymond," directed the old man, as sharply as a commanding
officer, "and you, Harry, and you, Pauline."

They obeyed and quickly lined up before his chair with rather surprised
faces, for Mr. Marvin only called them Pauline and Harry when he was
very serious.

"Raymond, this is the situation: My son loves Pauline and wants to
marry her at once. I have no objection; in fact, I would like to see
them united at once, but Pauline demurs. She loves Harry, but feels
she ought to have two years to see life before settling down. Two
years is too much."

"I should say so," growled Harry.