And Rosemary asked quite casually: "Have you been in England long?"
"Only a few hours," Peter replied with a laugh. "I crossed over by the night boat, via Havre. I always meant to sample that journey, and it was really rather nice." After that he was silent for a moment; then suddenly he seized her hand. She had no gloves on, and he held the soft palm to his lips. Rosemary did not move. She was not looking at Peter; she was just watching a huge blackbird that had landed on the elm tree opposite and who was whistling away for dear life.
"Rosemary, when can we be married?" Peter asked abruptly.
She couldn't help smiling. It, too, was so like Peter. "I've waited two years, dash it all," he went on. "Two years in hell. Now I'm not going to wait any longer. When can we be married, Rosemary?"
Then Rosemary ceased to watch the blackbird and turned slowly to look at Peter.
"Whenever you like, dear," she replied.
The End