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He broke off. He might have been the monotonous rain for all the notice she took of him.

He began afresh—

“Laura,” then, with an effort, “dear old thing—I say, you know, you must pull yourself together.” He put his hand on her arm, drawing away her fingers from her face.

She yielded indifferently, letting him do as he pleased.

He had an inspiration.

“It’s all right, you know, about the Cœlestial City. She is there, and you’ll get there some day, don’t you worry—only it isn’t the Crystal Palace. You’ll have to wait. But you’ll get there some day.”

She lifted heavy eyes.

“When?”

“Oh—I don’t know. When you’re old.”

“As old as you?”

“Oh, older than that—seventy or eighty.”

“Years?”

He nodded.

“It’s seventy days to Christmas. That’s not even one year.” Her voice trailed into hopelessness.

But at least she had spoken. Justin was pleased with his resourcefulness. He tried again.

“You know, when you’re grown-up the days go quicker. Oh, yes—they simply whiz. Honest! You’ll see.”

“Shall I?” She edged a little nearer to him.