"That's why I'm marrying him," she said.

There was a little pause. For the moment I had nothing to say, as
I was busily searching for her point of view. Then, with pauses
between each sentence, she went on:--

"He asked me two months ago, and again a month ago. I told him to
put such ideas out of his head. Yesterday he told me they were off
to the front and said what a wonderful help it would be to him if
he could carry away some hope of my love. So I gave it to him."--
She threw back her head and looked at me, with flushed cheeks.
"The love, not the hope."

"I don't think it was right of him to press for an immediate
marriage," said I, in a grandfatherly way--though God knows if I
had been mad for a girl I should have done the same myself when I
was young.

"He didn't" said Betty, coolly. "It was all my doing. I fixed it
up there and then. Looked up Whitaker's Almanack for the necessary
information, and sent him off to get a special license."

I nodded a non-committal head. It all seemed rather mad. Betty
rose and from her graceful height gazed down on me.

"If you don't look more cheerful, Major, I shall cry. I've never
done so yet, but I'm sure I've got it in me."

I stretched out my hand. She took it, and, still holding it,
seated herself on a footstool close to my chair.