uld make up their minds by thinking. At least
sometimes he envied them and sometimes he thought they lied. He could
only think _about_ a subject and wait for the unknown gods to bring him a
decision. And this is what he now did, with his eyes fixed on the towers
and tanks and tenements, on the pale winter sky, and, when he got up and
leaned his elbows on the parapet, on the crowds that looked like a flood
of purple insects in the streets.

He thought of Mathilde's youth and his own untried capacities for
success, of poverty and children, of the probable opposition of
Mathilde's family and of a strange, sinister, disintegrating power he
felt or suspected in Mrs. Farron. He felt that it was a terrible risk to
ask a young girl to take and that it was almost an insult to be afraid to
ask her to take it. That was what his mother had always said about these
cherished, protected creatures: they were not prepared to meet any strain
in life. He knew he would not have hesitated to ask a girl differently
brought up. Ought he to ask Mathilde or ought he not even to hesitate
about asking her? In his own future he had confidence. He had an unusual
power of getting his facts together so that they meant something. In a
small way his work was recognized. A report of his had some weight. He
felt certain that if on his return he wanted another position he could
get it unless he made a terrible fiasco in China. Should he consult any
one? He knew beforehand what they would all think about it. Mr. Lanley
would think that it was sheer impertinence to want to marry his
granddaughter on less than fifteen thousand dollars a year; Mrs. Farron
would think that there were lots of equally agreeable young men in the
world who would not take a girl to China; and his mother, whom he could
not help considering the wisest of the three, would think that Mathilde
lacked discipline and strength of will for such an adventure. And on this
he found he made up his mind. "After all," he said to himself as he put
the chair back against the wall, "everything else would be failure, and
this may be success."

It was the afternoon that Farron was brought back from the hospital, and
he and Mathilde were sure of having the drawing-room to themselves. He
told her the situation slowly and with a great deal of detail,
chronologically, introducing the Chinese trip at the very end. But she
did not at once understand.

"O Pete, you would not go away from me!" she said. "I