XVI

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However abrupt Cosden's action may have appeared to Miss Stevens or to

Huntington, in his own mind he believed himself to have selected the

psychological moment for which he had patiently waited. It was true that

he had seen comparatively little of Merry Thatcher, but the time had

been well spent in preparation for the grand event. Now, particularly

since Huntington had spoken as he did, Cosden was eager to put his

new-found knowledge to the test, and to disprove his friend's

contention.

It was a business axiom with Cosden that an order must be half sold

before the salesman approached the prospective buyer. "People don't buy

anything these days," he hammered into his sales-manager; "they have to

be sold." And Cosden was a man who practised what he preached. The

frankly-admitted lack of familiarity on his part with the particular

market in which he proposed to trade was offset, he believed, by the

expert coaching he had received from Miss Stevens; and this should have

prepared him for any emergency. After all, were not the principles the

same the world over? Somewhere, back in the hazy, academic past when

Latin had been compulsory, he remembered that a certain gentleman whose

name he could not then recall had plunged _in medias res_. He remembered

distinctly how much this act had won his admiration; now he proposed to

emulate his illustrious predecessor.

Even granting that Cosden's self-analysis was correct to the extent that

he possessed no romance in his make-up, the present surroundings were

such as to suggest the "psychological moment" even to the most obtuse.

The sloop, after running before the wind, was skilfully guided in and

out among the little islands and past the beautiful shores of Boaz and

Somerset by a hand on the tiller to which sailing was evidently

second-nature. The girl rested against the gunwale, her eye alert, her

face lighted by a smile of quiet contentment, her white, lithe figure

brightly contrasted against the varying background of blue water and the

green of the islands as they were left behind.

"Where did you learn to handle a boat?" Cosden asked her, interrupting

the silence which she seemed content to accept.

"Oh, there's nothing to it here," she answered. "I wonder if they have a

breeze like this all the time in Bermuda? It seems to be ready-made for

the visitors. But I think it would become monotonous, don't you? I like

something to work against."

"You have evidently sailed a boat before."

"I'm on the water a good deal every summer. Father gave me a knockabout

two years ago, and I've had lots of fun in her. It isn't always as

simple on Narragansett Bay as it appears to be here."

"You seem to be pretty good at anything you undertake."

"Oh, no!" Merry laughed deprecatingly. "I play at everything, and

perhaps that is why I am not particularly good at anything. Phil says I

have more courage than judgment."

"That sounds like jealousy! I'll wager you can beat him in most games,

unless he is better than the youngsters I know."

"I can, in some," she admitted, "but Phil is a great oarsman. He's on

the crew at Harvard, you know," she added with a pride which amused

Cosden; "he will probably row against Yale again this year. But Phil

doesn't go at other sports as hard as I do. I have to go at them hard. I

simply must be doing something. Mother calls it restlessness and Father

says it's because I haven't grown up yet. Perhaps they are both right;

but whatever it is I just can't help it."

"I hope you will never grow up, if to lose your enthusiasm is the

penalty."

"Then you don't think it's unwomanly?" she asked, grateful for his

approval.

"On the contrary," Cosden asserted. "It is enthusiasm which wins in

everything to-day. Confidence in one's self, belief in one's subject,

enthusiasm in its presentation; that is my daily creed."

"But you are a man," Merry protested. "You have made your success, so

you have a right to have confidence in yourself--"

"My success is only partially complete," Cosden interrupted, quick to

seize the easy opening. "When I left college I undertook to make money:

I did make it. Then I undertook to compel that money to earn me a place

in the business world: I made that dream come true. Now I have reached

the third effort. My money is of value only so far as it secures for me

what I want, and a part of what I want I can't get alone: that is a

home, with the right woman in it. A man can make his clubs and all that

sort of thing by himself, but it takes a woman to secure for him the

social life which he ought to have. I'm looking for that woman now, and

I intend to get her."

A smile crossed Merry's face as Cosden concluded his matter-of-fact

statement. "You are demonstrating your daily creed," she said.

"Of course I am. If I didn't you would accuse me of inconsistency."

"Have you found the woman you--intend to get?"

"I'm not sure. What kind of woman do you think she ought to be?"

Merry's face sobered, and she became thoughtfully serious. "First of

all, a woman who loved you," she said at length; "that goes without

saying."

It was Cosden who smiled this time. "I see you still have some

old-fashioned ideas left; I had looked upon you as absolutely

up-to-date."

"Is love old-fashioned?"

"Love is a result rather than a cause. It comes from the combination of

one or more causes: propinquity, similarity of tastes, natural

attributes, I might go on indefinitely. Two natures are attracted to

each other before marriage, but love really comes as a result of the

closer companionship which follows. Could anything be more common-sense

or scientific than that?"

"Is that what men believe?" she asked.

"Not all; which explains the appalling list of matrimonial bankrupts."

They were out beyond Ireland Island now, past the great dry-dock and the

barracks. The girl brought the boat about and started on the homeward

tack.

"That is a very interesting idea," she said soberly as she shifted to

starboard. "It never occurred to me that love had become a commodity.

That is very interesting."

"But you haven't told me what kind of woman you think my wife should

be," Cosden insisted.

"She should be a poor girl, of good birth and personal attractions," she

answered promptly.

"Why poor?"

"Because otherwise she would be giving everything and you nothing. You

must supply something which she lacks or it wouldn't be a fair trade,

would it? If a woman loves a man, there is no need to measure what she

gives against what she receives, but your 'common-sense' plan suggests

it, and from a 'scientific' standpoint I should think it absolutely

essential."

"But your statement is not correct, Miss Merry," Cosden protested

earnestly. "You would do me an injustice if you stopped at that point:

am I not offering her my name and my protection?"

"Of course all this is an imaginary situation," Merry laughed

mischievously, "or I shouldn't dare to speak so freely; but in justice

to my sex I can't stop now: suppose her name is as good as yours, and

that she is entirely competent to protect herself?"

"Great Scott! Don't tell me you are a suffragist!"

"But you would want this woman you--intend to get to be a suffragist,

wouldn't you?"

"Not under any circumstances!"

"Still, your marriage is to be on an up-to-date common-sense, scientific

basis: can it be unless you and your wife stand on equal terms?"

"I never saw such a girl to ask questions," Cosden protested almost

petulantly. "You must have been going to woman's suffrage meetings all

winter."

Merry laughed outright. Her triumph was too obvious not to be enjoyed;

but she quickly checked herself.

"I have been very rude," she said contritely; "but what you said so

completely destroys the vision which every girl has in her heart that I

couldn't resist the temptation to tease you. No, Mr. Cosden; I'm not a

suffragist, and I never attended a public meeting in my life. Mother

thinks I'm too young to enter into such things; but I've read a good

deal, and I can't see why, in this scientific age, men and women

shouldn't stand side by side at the ballot-box as well as elsewhere. For

myself, I'm not quite ready for it, but I admit that it is nothing but

sentiment--a holding on to a bit of old-fashioned precedent if you

like--which holds me back. It seems to mar that vision I just spoke of,

Mr. Cosden, even as your ideas completely destroy it."

She was in earnest now, and the girlish, mischievous attitude had

completely vanished. Her grasp upon the tiller tightened, her eyes

looked far ahead and Cosden knew that in this mood she would have

welcomed a young typhoon--anything to struggle with, rather than the

smooth lapping of the water against the sides of the boat as the light

wind bore them tranquilly on toward their landing. Even to him,

unaccustomed as he was to the finer sensibilities which expressed

themselves in every feature of the girl's face, the surging thoughts

which forced so tense a silence commanded silence in his own response.

It was the closest he had ever come into a woman's inner shrine, and

instinctively he respected it.

It was her own movement--a brushing back of a strand of hair which the

breeze had loosened and blown across her face--which finally broke the

tension, but her eyes did not drop. Still looking far ahead of her she

spoke again, but the words seemed addressed more to herself than to her

companion.

"I can't bear to give that vision up," she said quietly, "and yet I

never expect to see it realized."

"Tell me what it is," Cosden urged as she paused. "Visions aren't

exactly in my line, but perhaps you can make me see this one."

"It's silly of me; you wouldn't be interested, of course."

"But I am," he insisted. "Please go on."

"Well," the girl said consciously, "since you have confided your creed

to me, I'll tell you what my vision is,--but you mustn't laugh at it for

it means a great deal to me."

"I promise--cross my heart," Cosden replied.

"In this vision each one of us atoms, man or woman, has a distinct

individuality, and each atom is intended to express its own

individuality alone and in its own way unless two atoms become joined

together by laws of natural attraction. In that case these two continue

on their way together, each strengthened by the combination, and thus

enabled to express their joint individuality as neither could do alone.

But love must be the crucible, Mr Cosden. Common-sense won't merge them,

science won't do it. The two atoms can't be made into one without the

crucible."

They were almost at the "Princess" landing now, and Merry gave her full

attention to her duties as skipper. As the boatman took possession,

Cosden assisted her onto the landing and they walked slowly up the stone

steps. At the top she turned to him suddenly, the brightest of smiles

replacing her former seriousness. Cosden marveled at the rapidity with

which her mood changed.

"That's my vision, Mr. Cosden," she said simply; "don't think it too

foolish. I must have some guide just as you have your daily creed. I

haven't confidence in myself, but I do believe in my subject, and you

tell me that I have enthusiasm. Please let that atone."

"But that vision of yours--" Cosden demanded doubtfully. "You asked me

if all men regard marriage as I do; let me ask you if all women have

that vision, as you call it."

"I suppose they have. If not, why should they give up their

independence?"

"I thought all women wanted to marry--"

"That is where _you_ are not up-to-date, Mr. Cosden," she laughed.

"Perhaps the woman you--intend to get has no vision; if so, it will be

that much easier. But she must be poor, Mr. Cosden,--you really mustn't

take advantage of her!"

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