..two days later, on thursday, the worm crossed the square and sixth avenue and entered greenwich village proper.

he was dressed, at the top, in a soft gray hat from england. next beneath was a collar that had cost him forty cents. the four-in-hand scarf was an imported foulard, of a flowering pattern in blues and greens; with a jade pin stuck in it. the new, perfectly fitting suit was of donegal homespun and would cost, when the bill was paid, slightly more than sixty dollars. the shoes, if not custom made, were new. and he carried a slender stick with a curving silver head.

he felt uncomfortably conspicuous. his nerves tingled with an emotional disturbance that ignored his attempts to dismiss it as something beneath him. for the first time in nearly a decade he was about to propose marriage to a young woman. as he neared the street on which the young woman lived, his steps slackened and his mouth became uncomfortably dry.... all this was absurd, of course. he and sue were good friends. “there needn't be all this excitement,” he told himself with a desperate clutching at the remnants of his sense of humor, “over suggesting to her that we change from a rational to an irrational relationship.”

at the corner, however, he stopped dead. then with a self-consciousness worthy of peter himself, he covered his confusion by buying an afternoon paper and walking slowly back toward sixth avenue.

suddenly, savagely, he crumpled the paper into a ball, threw it into the street, strode resolutely to sue's apartment-house and rang her bell.

sue promptly lighted the alcohol lamp under her kettle and they had tea. over the cups, feeling coldly desperate, the worm said:

“been thinking you all over, sue.” it was a relief to find that his voice sounded fairly natural.

she took the remark rather lightly. “i'm not worth it, henry.... i've thought some myself—your idea of the boundary...”

his thoughts were moving on with disconcerting rapidity. he must take the plunge. it was his fate. he knew it.

“we talked marriage,” he said.

she nodded.

“since then i've tried to figure but what i do think, and crystallize it. sue, i'm not so sure that betty was wrong.”

“that's a new slant,” said she thoughtfully.

“or very old. just try to look through my eyes for a moment. betty had tried freedom—had something of a fling at it. now, it is evident that in her case it didn't work very well. isn't it?”

“in her case, yes,” sue observed quietly.

“precisely, in her case. she had reached the boundary. you'll admit that?”

sue smiled faintly at his argumentative tone. “yes, i'll admit it.”

“betty isn't a great soul. a stronger nature would have taken longer to reach the boundary. but doesn't it indicate that the boundary is there?”

“well”—sue hesitated. “all right. for the sake of the argument i'll admit that, too.”.

“well, now, just what has betty done? she doesn't love this manufacturer she has married.”

“not a bit.”

“and the marriage may fail. the majority of them, from an idealistic point of view, undoubtedly do fail. admitting all that, you have let me see that you yourself in a weak moment have considered the same course.”

sue's brow clouded. but she nodded slowly.

“well, then”—he hitched forward in his chair, and to cover his burning eagerness talked, if possible, a shade more stiffly and impersonally—“doesn't this, betty's act and your momentary consideration of the same act, suggest that a sound instinct may be at work there?”

“if cowardice is an instinct, henry.”

“how do you know it is cowardice? from what data do you get that conclusion? betty, after all her philandering, has undertaken a definite contract. it binds her. it is a job. there is discipline in it, a chance for service. it creates new conditions of life which will certainly change her unless she quits. haven't you noticed, all your life, what a relief it is to get out of indecision into a definite course, even if it costs you something?”

again that faint smile of hers. “turning conservative, henry?”

he ignored this. “life moves on in epochs, sue. if you don't start getting educated when you're a youngster, you go most awfully wrong. if you don't accept the discipline of work as soon as you've got a little education and grown up, you're a slacker and before long you're very properly rated as a slacker. so with a woman—given this wonderful function of motherhood and the big emotional capacity that goes with it—if she waits too long after her body and spirit have ripened she goes wrong, emotionally and spiritually. there's a time with a normal woman when love and maternity are—well, the next thing. not with every woman of course. but pretty certainly with the woman who reaches that time, refuses marriage, and then is forced to admit that her life isn't working out. peter has coined the word for what that woman becomes—a better word than he himself knows... she's a truffler.”

she was gazing at him. “henry,” she cried, “what has struck you? where's that humorous balance of yours?”

“i'm in earnest, sue.”

“yes, i see. but why on earth—”

“because i want you to marry—”

it was at this moment that the worm's small courage fled utterly out of his inexperienced heart. and his tongue, as if to play a saturnine trick on that heart, repeated the phrase, unexpectedly to what was left of his brain, with an emphatic downward emphasis that closed the discussion.

“i want you to marry,” he said.

a sudden moisture came to sue's eyes, and much of the old frankness as she surveyed him.

“henry,” she said then, “you are wonderful, coming at me like this, as if you cared—”

“i do care—”

“i know. i feel it. just when i thought friends were—well...” she did not finish this, but sat erect, pushed her teacup aside and gazed at him with something of the old alertness in the green-brown eyes. there was sudden color in her cheeks. “henry, you've roused me—just when i thought no one could. i've got to think.... you go away. you don't mind, do you? just let me be alone. i've felt lately as if i was losing—my mind, my will, my perceptions—something. and, henry—wait!” for he had risen, with a blank face, and was looking for his hat.

“wait—did peter leave you his itinerary?”

the worm felt in his pockets and produced it.

“he sent me one, but i tore it up.” she laughed a little, then colored with a nervous suddenness; and walked after him to the door. “you've always had the faculty of rousing me, henry, and steadying me. to-day you've stirred me more than you could possibly know. i don't know what will come of it—i'm dreadfully; confused—but i can at least try to think it out.”

that was all—all but a few commonplace phrases at the doer.

“oh,” said he, with a touch of awkwardness, “i meant to tell you that i've made a change myself.”

“you?” again her eyes, recalled to him, ran over his new clothes.

“i start work to-morrow, on the evening courier.”

“oh, henry, i'm glad. good luck! it ought to be interesting.”

“at least,” said he heavily, “it will be a slight contact with reality,” and hurried away.