She fell to toying with her rings and drawing figures on her gown.
"That is for you to choose," she said, with a side-long glance. . .
"Next year, may be, . . . to-morrow, if you wish."
"You mean------?" he cried.
She sprang away with a merry laugh--then came slowly back to him.
"I mean, my lord, they will begin . . . when you are Earl of Clare."