And if I
were thinking of you, wanting to see you, having letters from you, I
shouldn't attend to this; I shouldn't be able to think of it----"
"Do you still love me?"
"Why, of course. I shall never change."
"And do you think that I still love you?"
"Yes."
"And do you think I'll change?"
"You may. But I don't want to think so."
"Well, then, the main question is settled. It doesn't matter how long we
wait."
"But it _does_ matter. It may be for years and years. You've got to
marry, you can't just stay unmarried because one day you may marry me."
"Can't I? You wait and see whether I can't."
"But you oughtn't to, Johnny. Think of your family. Think of your mother.
You're the only son."
"Mother can just think of me for once. It will be a bit of a change for
her. It will do her good. I've told her whom I want to marry, and she must
just get used to it. She admits herself that she can't have anything
against you personally, except that you're too young. I asked her whether
she wanted me to marry a Dowager of sixty."
Joan moved away. She walked to the window and looked out at the grey mist
sweeping like an army of ghostly messengers across the Cathedral Green.
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