--Matthew Arnold.
He. Tell your jhampanies not to hurry so, dear. They forget I'm
fresh from the Plains.
She. Sure proof that I have not been going out with any one. Yes,
they are an untrained crew. Where do we go?
He. As usual to the world's end. No, Jakko.
She. Have your pony led after you, then. It's a long round.
He. And for the last time, thank Heaven!
She. Do you mean that still? I didn't dare to write to you about it
all these months.
He. Mean it! I've been shaping my affairs to that end since
Autumn. What makes you speak as though it had occurred to you
for the first time?
She. I? Oh! I don't know. I've had long enough to think, too.
He. And you've changed your mind?
She. No. You ought to know that I am a miracle of constancy.
What are your arrangements?
He. Ours, Sweetheart, please.
She. Ours, be it then. My poor boy, how the prickly heat has
marked your forehead! Have you ever tried sulphate of copper in
water?
He. It'll go away in a day or two up here. The arrangements are
simple enough. Tonga in the early morning reach Kalka at twelve
Umballa at seven down, straight by night train, to Bombay, and
then the steamer of the 21st for Rome. That's my idea. The
Continent and Sweden a ten-week honeymoon.
She. Ssh! Don't talk of it in that way. It makes me afraid. Guy, how
long have we two been insane?
He.
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