n he craved, but something greater, more fearful, the mystery of
sorrow and suffering, of creation and life--of the universe itself.

"Janet--aren't you happy?" he said again.

She released herself and smiled at him wistfully through her tears.

"I don't know. What I feel doesn't seem like happiness. I can't believe
in it, somehow."

"You must believe in it," he said.

"I can't,--perhaps I may, later. You'd better go now," she begged.
"You'll miss your train."

He glanced at the office clock. "Confound it, I have to. Listen! I'll be
back this evening, and I'll get that little car of mine--"

"No, not to-night--I don't want to go--to-night."

"Why not?"

"Not to-night," she repeated.

"Well then, to-morrow. To-morrow's Sunday. Do you know where the Boat
Club is on the River Boulevard? I'll be there, to-morrow morning at ten.
I'd come for you, to your house," he added quickly, "but we don't want
any one to know, yet--do we?"

She shook her head.

"We must keep it secret for a while," he said. "Wear your new dress--the
blue one. Good-bye--sweetheart."

He kissed her again and hurried out of the office.... Boarding the train
just as it was about to start, he settled himself in the back seat of
the smoker, lit a cigar, inhaling deep breaths of the smoke and scarcely
noticing an acquaintance who greeted him from the aisle. Well, he had
done it! He was amazed. He had not intended to propose marriage, and
when he tried to review the circumstances that had led to this he became
confused. But when he asked himself whether indeed he were willing to
pay such a price, to face the revolution marriage--and this marriage in
particular--would mean in his life, the tumult in his blood beat down
his incipient anxieties. Besides, he possessed the kind of mind able to
throw off the consideration of possible consequences, and by the time
the train had slowed down in the darkness of the North Station in Boston
all traces of worry had disappeared. The future would take care of
itself.

For the Bumpus family, supper that evening was an unusually harmonious
meal. Hannah's satisfaction over the new stove had by no means subsided,
and Edward ventured, without reproof, to praise the restored quality
of the pie crust. And in contrast to her usual moroseness and
self-absorption, even Lise was gay--largely because her pet aversion,
the dignified and allegedly amorous Mr. Waiters, floor-walker at the
Bagatelle, had fallen down the len