"And in all these--I mean to say, haven't you ever met a man who complied with these conditions?" She made no intelligible response, but as Mr. Mix watched her, he was desperately aware that his moment had come. His next sentence would define his future. He was absolutely convinced, through his private source of information, that Henry was due to fall short of his quota by four or five thousand dollars; nothing but a miracle could save him, and Mr. Mix was a sceptic in regard to miracles. He was positive that in a brief six months Miss Starkweather would receive at least a half million; and Mr. Mix, at fifty-five, wasn't the type of man who could expect to have lovely and plutocratic debutantes thrown at his head. He believed--and his belief was cousin to a prayer--that Mirabelle was absorbed in reform only because no one was absorbed in Mirabelle. Indeed, she had implied, a few moments ago, that marriage would cramp her activities; but it was significant that she hadn't belittled the institution. Perhaps if she were skilfully managed, she might even be modernized. Certainly she had been content, so far, to be guided by Mr. Mix's conservatism. He hoped that he was right, and he trusted in his own strategy even if he were wrong. And every day that he continued moderate in his public utterances, and in his actions, he was a day nearer to the golden ambition of an elective office. He was threatened with vertigo but he mastered himself, and drew a long, long breath in farewell to his bachelorhood. "You have heartened me more than you know," said Mr. Mix, with ecclesiastical soberness. "Because--it has been my poverty--which has kept me silent." He bent forward. "Mirabelle, am _I_ the right man?" Almost by sheer will-power, he rose and came to her, and took her hand. She shrank away, in maiden modesty, but her fingers remained quiescent. Mr. Mix sneezed again, and stooped to kiss her cheek, but Mirabelle avoided him. "No," she said, with a short laugh. "That don't signify--I don't approve of it much." She wavered, and relented. "Still, I guess it's customary--Theodore." * * * * *