Waiting until he's a professor--and until her health is better, too, I imagine.

An agreement to let things rest as they are for the present, one might say.

Imogene talks very little about it, and of course I ask no questions." She sat down on a fallen tree, patting its trunk to signify a place for him at her side.

Pointing at crevises in the canon wall, she began to tell him the names she and Imogene had given them--Bandit's Stair, Devil's Crack, Bear's Hole, and to enumerate those assigned the jutting points and knobs along the rim that by a stretch of the imagination bore a resemblance to animals or human heads.
As she talked, with her gray eyes at times turning to his to learn if he was interested, he felt anew the charm of her youthfulness, of her vivid personality.

It dwelt in her small, firm hands pointing now here, now there, in her slender, rounded form faced toward him, in her red lips, her soft smooth cheek, her brow, in her glances and her animated words.