David Forsythe sat across the back of a chair in Howat's room as the
latter dressed in the rapidly failing light. David had smuggled his
London coat with the wired tails out to Myrtle Forge, and had the
stiffened portion now spread smoothly out on either side. His cheerful,
freshly-coloured face was troubled; he seemed constantly on the point of
breaking into speech without actually becoming audible. Howat was
thinking of Ludowika. It would happen to-night, he knew. He was at once
apprehensive and glad.

"You knew," David ventured finally, "that I'm supposed to ask Myrtle to
marry me. That is, your father and mine hoped I would. Well," he drew a
deep breath, "I don't think I shall. Of course, she is one of the
prettiest girls any one ever saw, and she's quite bright--it's wonderful
what she has picked up about the Furnace, but yet--" his speech suddenly
ran out. With an effort Howat brought himself back from his own vastly
more important concern. "Yes?" he queried, pausing with his fingers in
the buttonholes of a mulberry damask coat. "I have decided to choose, to
act, for myself," David announced; "this is a thing where every man must
be absolutely free.--Caroline can have me if she likes."

Howat could not avoid a momentary, inward flicker of amusement at David
Forsythe's absolute freedom of choice. He felt infinitely older than the
other, wiser in the circuitous mysteries of being. He pounded David on
the back, exclaimed, "Good!"

"I don't know whether to speak to Abner," the other proceeded
unfilially, "or the great Penny first. I don't care too much for either
job. It would be pleasanter to go to Caroline. I have an idea she
doesn't exactly dislike me."