IsawamancomechargingoutofPalaceYard——thepolicemantouchedhishelmettohim——withahatandabearingastonishinglylikemyuncle’s。Afterall，——didn’tCracknellhimselfsitintheHouse？
Tono-BungayshoutedatmefromahoardingnearAdelphiTerrace；I
sawitafaroffnearCarfaxStreet；itcriedoutagainuponmeinKensingtonHighStreet，andburstintoaperfectclamour；sixorseventimesIsawitasIdrewnearmydiggings。Itcertainlyhadanairofbeingsomethingmorethanadream。
Yes，Ithoughtitover——thoroughlyenough。Traderulestheworld。Wealthratherthantrade！Thethingwastrue，andtruetoowasmyuncle’spropositionthatthequickestwaytogetwealthistosellthecheapestthingpossibleinthedearestbottle。Hewasfrightfullyrightafterall。Pecunnianonolet，——aRomanemperorsaidthat。PerhapsmygreatheroesinPlutarchwerenomorethansuchmen，finenowonlybecausetheyaredistant；perhapsafterallthisSocialismtowhichIhadbeendrawnwasonlyafoolishdream，onlythemorefoolishbecauseallitspromiseswereconditionallytrue。Morrisandtheseothersplayedwithitwittingly；itgaveazest，atouchofsubstance，totheiraestheticpleasures。Neverwouldtherebegoodfaithenoughtobringsuchthingsabout。Theyknewit；everyone，exceptafewyoungfools，knewit。AsIcrossedthecornerofSt。James’sParkwrappedinthought，Idodgedbackjustintimetoescapeaprancingpairofgreys。Astout，common-lookingwoman，verymagnificentlydressed，regardedmefromthecarriagewithascornfuleye。“Nodoubt。”thoughtI，“apill-vendor’swife。”
Runningthroughallmythoughts，surgingoutlikearefrain，wasmyuncle’smaster-stroke，hisadmirabletouchofpraise：“Makeitallslick——andthenmakeitgoWoosh。Iknowyoucan！Oh！I
KNOWyoucan！”
Ewartasamoralinfluencewasunsatisfactory。Ihadmadeupmymindtoputthewholethingbeforehim，partlytoseehowhetookit，andpartlytohearhowitsoundedwhenitwassaid。IaskedhimtocomeandeatwithmeinanItalianplacenearPantonStreetwhereonecouldgetacurious，interesting，gluttingsortofdinnerforeighteen-pence。Hecamewithadisconcertingblack-eyethathewouldn’texplain。“Notsomuchablack-eye。”
hesaid，“astheaftermathofapurplepatch。What’syourdifficulty？”
“I’lltellyouwiththesalad。”Isaid。
ButasamatteroffactIdidn’ttellhim。IthrewoutthatI
wasdoubtfulwhetherIoughttogointotrade，orsticktoteachinginviewofmydeepeningsocialistproclivities；andhe，warmingwiththeunaccustomedgenerosityofasixteen-pennyChianti，ranonfromthatwithoutanyfurtherinquiryastomytrouble。
Hisutterancesrovedwideandloose。
“Therealityoflife，mydearPonderevo。”Irememberhimsayingveryimpressivelyandpunctuatingwiththenut-crackersashespoke，“isChromaticConflict。andForm。Getholdofthatandletalltheseotherquestionsgo。TheSocialistwilltellyouonesortofcolourandshapeisright，theIndividualistanother。
Whatdoesitallamountto？WhatDOESitallamountto？
NOTHING！Ihavenoadvicetogiveanyone，——excepttoavoidregrets。Beyourself，seekaftersuchbeautifulthingsasyourownsensedeterminestobebeautiful。Anddon’tmindtheheadacheinthemorning。Forwhat，afterall，isamorning，Ponderevo？Itisn’tliketheupperpartofaday！”
Hepausedimpressively。
“WhatRot！”Icried，afteraconfusedattempttoapprehendhim。
“Isn’tit！Andit’smybedrockwisdominthematter！Takeitorleaveit，mydearGeorge；takeitorleaveit。”。Heputdownthenut-crackersoutofmyreachandluggedagreasy-lookingnote-bookfromhispocket。“I’mgoingtostealthismustardpot。”hesaid。
Imadenoisesofremonstrance。
“Onlyasamatterofdesign。I’vegottodoanoldbeast’stomb。
Wholesalegrocer。I’llputitonhiscorners，——fourmustardpots。Idaresayhe’dbegladofamustardplasternowtocoolhim，poordevil，whereheis。Butanyhow，——heregoes！”
ItcametomeinthesmallhoursthattherealmoraltouchstoneforthisgreatdoubtingofmindwasMarion。Ilaycomposingstatementsofmyproblemandimaginedmyselfdeliveringthemtoher——andshe，goddess-likeandbeautiful；givingherfine，simply-wordedjudgment。
“Yousee，it’sjusttogiveone’sselfovertotheCapitalisticSystem。”IimaginedmyselfsayingingoodSocialistjargon；“it’ssurrenderingallone’sbeliefs。WeMAYsucceed，weMAYgrowrich，butwherewouldthesatisfactionbe？”
Thenshewouldsay，“No！Thatwouldn’tberight。”
“Butthealternativeistowait！”
Thensuddenlyshewouldbecomeagoddess。Shewouldturnuponmefranklyandnobly，withshiningeyes，witharmsheldout。“No。”
shewouldsay，“weloveoneanother。Nothingignobleshallevertouchus。Weloveoneanother。Whywaittotelleachotherthat，dear？Whatdoesitmatterthatwearepoorandmaykeeppoor？”
Butindeedtheconversationdidn’tgoatallinthatdirection。
Atthesightofhermynocturnaleloquencebecamepreposterousandallthemoralvaluesalteredaltogether。IhadwaitedforheroutsidethedooroftheParsian-robeestablishmentinKensingtonHighStreetandwalkedhomewithherthence。I
rememberhowsheemergedintothewarmeveninglightandthatsheworeabrownstrawhatthatmadeher，foroncenotonlybeautifulbutpretty。
“Ilikethathat。”Isaidbywayofopening；andshesmiledherraredelightfulsmileatme。
“Iloveyou。”Isaidinanundertone，aswejostledcloseronthepavement。
Sheshookherheadforbiddingly，butshestillsmiled。Then——
“Besensible！”
TheHighStreetpavementistoonarrowandcrowdedforconversationandweweresomewaywestwardbeforewespokeagain。
“Lookhere。”Isaid；“Iwantyou，Marion。Don’tyouunderstand？
Iwantyou。”
“Now！”shecriedwarningly。
Idonotknowifthereaderwillunderstandhowapassionatelover，animmenseadmirationanddesire，canbeshotwithagleamofpositivehatred。Suchagleamtherewasinmeatthesereneself-complacencyofthat“NOW！”ItvanishedalmostbeforeI
feltit。Ifoundnowarninginitoftheantagonismslatentbetweenus。
“Marion。”Isaid，“thisisn’tatriflingmattertome。Iloveyou；Iwoulddietogetyou。Don’tyoucare？”
“Butwhatisthegood？”
“Youdon’tcare。”Icried。“Youdon’tcarearap！”
“YouknowIcare。”sheanswered。“IfIdidn’t——IfIdidn’tlikeyouverymuch，shouldIletyoucomeandmeetme——goaboutwithyou？”
“Wellthen。”Isaid，“promisetomarryme！”
“IfIdo，whatdifferencewillitmake？”
Wewereseparatedbytwomencarryingaladderwhodrovebetweenusunawares。
“Marion。”Iaskedwhenwegottogetheragain，“ItellyouIwantyoutomarryme。”
“Wecan’t。”
“Whynot？”
“Wecan’tmarry——inthestreet。”
“Wecouldtakeourchance！”
“Iwishyouwouldn’tgoontalkinglikethis。Whatisthegood？”
Shesuddenlygavewaytogloom。“It’snogoodmarrying“shesaid。“One’sonlymiserable。I’veseenothergirls。Whenone’saloneonehasalittlepocket-moneyanyhow，onecangoaboutalittle。Butthinkofbeingmarriedandnomoney，andperhapschildren——youcan’tbesure。”
Shepouredoutthisconcentratedphilosophyofherclassandtypeinjerkyuncompletedsentences，withknittedbrows，withdiscontentedeyestowardsthewestwardglow——forgetful，itseemed，foramomentevenofme。
“Lookhere，Marion。”Isaidabruptly，“whatwouldyoumarryon？”
“WhatISthegood？”shebegan。
“Wouldyoumarryonthreehundredayear？”
Shelookedatmeforamoment。“That’ssixpoundsaweek。”shesaid。“Onecouldmanageonthat，easily。Smithie’sbrother——No，heonlygetstwohundredandfifty。Hemarriedatypewritinggirl。”
“WillyoumarrymeifIgetthreehundredayear？”
Shelookedatmeagain，withacuriousgleamofhope。
“IF！”shesaid。
Iheldoutmyhandandlookedherintheeyes。“It’sabargain。”
Isaid。