u
could take this flat. We are going to Semmering for the winter sports. I
would show her about the stove."

"Marry her, of course!" said Peter gravely. "Just pick her up and carry
her to church! The trifling fact that she does not wish to marry me need
have nothing to do with it."

"Ah, but does she not wish it?" demanded Marie. "Are you so certain,
stupid big one? Do not women always love you?"

Ridiculous as the thought was, Peter pondered it as he went back to the
Pension Schwarz. About himself he was absurdly modest, almost humble. It
had never occurred to him that women might care for him for himself.
In his struggling life there had been little time for women. But about
himself as the solution of a problem--that was different.

He argued the thing over. In the unlikely contingency of the girl's
being willing, was Stewart right--could two people live as cheaply as
one? Marie was an Austrian and knew how to manage--that was different.
And another thing troubled him. He dreaded to disturb the delicate
adjustment of their relationship; the terra incognita of a young
girl's mind daunted him. There was another consideration which he put
resolutely in the back of his mind--his career. He had seen many a
promising one killed by early marriage, men driven to the hack work of
the profession by the scourge of financial necessity. But that was a
matter of the future; the necessity was immediate.

The night was very cold. Gusts of wind from the snow-covered Schneeberg
drove along the streets, making each corner a fortress defended by the
elements, a battlement to be seized, lost, seized again. Peter Byrne
battled valiantly but mechanically. And as he fought he made his
decision.

He acted with characteristic promptness. Possibly, too, he was afraid of
the strength of his own resolution. By morning sanity might prevail, and
in cold daylight he would see the absurdity of his position. He almost
ran up the winding staircase. At the top his cold fingers fumbled the
key and he swore under his breath. He slammed the door behind him. Peter
always slammed doors, and had an apologetic way of opening the door
again and closing it gently, as if to show that he could. Harmony's room
was dark, but he had surprised her once into a confession that when
she was very downhearted she liked to sit in the dark and be very blue
indeed. So he stopped and knocked. There was no reply, but from Dr.
Gates's room across there came a hum of conve