But--my dear, you'll marry me some day.
Isn't that so ?" Dot was silent.

She was straining against his arms, and yet he held her, not fiercely, not passionately, but with a mastery the greater for its very coolness.
"I'll wait for you," he said.

"I'll wait three years.

I shall be twenty-five then, and you'll be twenty-one.

But you'll marry me then, Dot.