"It is for all my
life! Ah, what am I saying? Mr. Wingarde"--she turned towards him, her
face quivering painfully--"be patient with me! I have given my promise."
The smile on his face deepened into something that closely resembled a
sneer.
"How long do you want me to wait?" he said. "Fifty years?"
She drew back sharply. But almost instantly he went on speaking.
"I will yield a point," he said, "if it means so much to you. But, you
know, the wedding-day will dawn eventually, however remote we make it.
Will you say next month?"
The girl's eyes wore a hunted look, but she kept them raised with
desperate resolution. She did not answer him, however. After a moment he
repeated his question. His face had become stern. The lines about his
mouth were grimly resolute.
"Will you say next month, Nina?" he said. "It shall be the last day of
it if you wish. But--next month."
His tone was inexorable. He meant to win this point, and she knew it.
Her breath came quickly, unevenly; but in face of his mastery she made a
great effort to control her agitation.
"Very well," she said, and she spoke more steadily than she had spoken
at all during the interview.
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