“Timocracy, you remember, Richard, established a man’s social and political status according to the amount of grain he owned. We have a timocracy in this country, in fact, if not in theory. A man is known by the _companies_ he is in. But this is wandering a long way from the point. The fact is, Richard, that I have been under a tremendous temptation for the last few weeks, a temptation against which my better nature has been at war. What if I had given in to it, and had, let us say, won the hand of Gertrude Van Vleck? I could never make her happy. Ten years ago, perhaps, such a woman might have moulded me into something approaching an ideal husband. But time is tyrannical, Richard. It is too late now for me to ask of life the greatest blessing that it holds for man, a companionable wife. I cannot accept the sacrifice of youth, beauty, intellect, and affection on the altar of my selfishness. It wouldn’t do, Richard. It wouldn’t do at all. Let the dream pass! Come, boy, help me to be a man. Let us try London, Richard, and see if its fogs can’t hide the foolish mirage our fevered brains have raised. You need heroic treatment as much as I do. From one standpoint, in fact, your case, Richard, is worse than mine. If you stay here you may bring misery to at least three people. If I remain, the worst I could do would be to make myself and one other unhappy. Mathematically you are more deserving of exile than I am.” “I tell you, John,” exclaimed Richard, his eyes resting on his friend’s face affectionately, “I tell you I don’t want you to bring me in as an important factor in this matter. You are treating a great crisis in your life with more cold-blooded cynicism than I thought you retained. Don’t you see that you may be doing Gertrude Van Vleck a great wrong? Don’t you understand that you may be recklessly throwing away your chance of lifelong happiness? What have your years, or your past, or your theories got to do with the matter? The only question at issue in the whole affair is this: Does Gertrude Van Vleck love you? If she does, your sacrifice would be simply a cruelty. If she doesn’t, your sacrifice wouldn’t be a sacrifice. That sounds Irish, but it expresses my meaning. ‘He either fears his fate too much, Or his deserts are small, That dares not put it to the touch, To gain or lose it all.’” An amused smile played over Fenton’s pale face. “And what course of action do you advise, young hot-head?” “There is only one thing for you to do, John. Go to Gertrude Van Vleck, and tell her that you love her. If she accepts you, that settles the problem before us. If she rejects you, we will go to London.” Fenton arose, and resumed his impatient march up and down the room.