"What do you mean by no longer?"
"Give me about five weeks—say till the Whitsuntide recess."
"Five weeks are a great deal," smiled Nick.
"There are things to be done—you ought to understand."
"I only understand how I love you."
"Dearest Nick!" said Mrs. Dallow upon which he caught her in his arms.
"I have your promise then for five weeks hence, to a day?" he demanded, as she released herself.
"We'll settle that—the exact day: there are things to consider and to arrange. Come to luncheon to-morrow."
"I'll come early—I'll come at one," Nick said; and for a moment they stood smiling at each other.
"Do you think I want to wait, any more than you?" Mrs. Dallow asked.
"I don't feel so much out of it now!" he exclaimed, by way of answer. "You'll stay, of course, now—you'll give up your visits?"
She had hold of the lappet of his coat; she had kept it in her hand even while she detached herself from his embrace. There was a white flower in his buttonhole which she looked at and played with a moment before she said: "I have a better idea—you needn't come to Griffin. Stay in your studio—do as you like—paint dozens of pictures."
"Dozens? Barbarian!" Nick ejaculated.
The epithet apparently had an endearing suggestion to Mrs. Dallow; at any rate it led her to allow him to kiss her on her forehead—led her to say: "What on earth do I want but
