"Well, that’s what it comes from chiefly—the crowds of polygamous men and the small number of polygamous women; or else it’s the crowds of monogamous women and the small number of monogamous men. Out of every hundred men, about ninety are polygamous, and ten want only one woman for a lifetime. Out of every hundred women, ninety are satisfied to love one man, and the other ten are rovers. Don’t you see what a bad fit it makes?" "Yes; but how do you know I’m not one of the rovers?" "You couldn’t be, Jennie. Even if I thought you might be, I’d be willing to take a chance. And the reason I’ve spun this rigmarole to you is because, if you don’t take me, it’ll be ten to one that you’ll fall into the hands of one of the gay ninety who’ll make your life a hell. I’d hate that. God! how I should hate it! Even if I didn’t care anything about you, I should want to marry you, just to save you from some fancy man who’d think no more of breaking your heart than he would of smashing an egg-shell." As they walked on toward the row of public conveyances, he explained himself further. On Monday next he might sail for South America. But he couldn’t do this leaving everything at loose ends between them. If she married him, he could go off with an easy mind, and they could keep their secret till his return. In the meanwhile he would be able to supply her with a little cash, not much, he was afraid, as dad kept so tight a rubber band round the pocketbook. It would, however, be something, and he would know that she could give up her work at the studio without danger of starving to death. "And you might as well do it first as last, Jennie," he summed up, "because I mean that you shall do it sometime." "And suppose," she objected, "that you came back from South America in six months’ time—and were sorry. Where should I be then?" He argued that this was impossible. A monogamous man always knew his mate as a monogamous bird knew his. It was instinct that told them both, and instinct never went wrong. They reached the row of taxis, and, in spite of the queer looks of the passers-by, he took her by the hand. "Come, Jennie, come!" But she hung back. "Oh, Bob, how can I? All of a sudden like this!" "It might as well be all of a sudden as any other way, since you’re my woman and I’m your man." "But I don’t believe it." "Then I’ll prove to you that it’s so." Though he could not do this, she went with him in the end. She was not won; she was not more moved by his suit than she had been at other times; she still shrank from the scar on his brow and the touch of his tremendous hands. But she was afraid of letting him go, of dropping back into the horror of no lover in the studio and no money to bring home. To do this thing would save her from that emptiness, even if it led to something worse. Worse would be easier to bear than returning to nothing but a void; and so slowly, reluctantly, with anguish in her heart, she let herself be helped into the shabby vehicle.