“You know, old boy, there are times when a man thinks quite a bit of himself.  This is more especially so before he’s twenty-five.  But then again there are times when he sees his bad points only, and then of all the unutterable dolts in the universe, he gets the notion that he is the worst.  When we were at college and I held down that third base position and hit 320 in the first season, I was chesty enough.  I suppose you remember it.  And when I came into my money and began to make collections of motor cars, yachts and such things, I thought I had taken life by the ears and was making it say ‘uncle.’

“Well, we’re only grown-up boys, after all.  I recall that I thought I’d dazzle Edyth with my magnificence, just as Tom Sawyer did the little girl with the two long braids of yellow hair—­do you remember?  And it was after I discovered that she was not to be dazzled that I sort of gave up.  I wasn’t anybody—­I never would be anybody; and Edyth would be the sort of woman who would expect her husband to take the front at a jump.  And no sensible person could imagine me at the front of anything, unless it was a procession on its way to the bow-wows.”

“I think,” said Ashton-Kirk, “that you began to prostrate yourself before your idol; and when a man takes to that, he always gets to thinking meanly of himself.  The attitude has much to do with the state of mind, I imagine.  Miss Vale is a courageous, capable girl; but you can never tell what sort of a man a woman will select for a husband.  Girls have fancies upon the subject, and give voice to them sometimes; but it is the man they choose and not the one they picture to whom you must give your attention.”

“I suppose that is true enough,” said Pendleton.

“Miss Vale’s evident strength awed you,” went on the other.  “And then your timidity began to magnify her qualities.  No woman is what she seems to be to the man who loves her.  Miss Vale is not so difficult to please as you thought.  I fancy that her engagement to young Morris proves that.”

“There you have it,” cried Pendleton.  “That’s it, Kirk!  I’ve stood aside, considering myself unworthy, and allowed a fellow to slip by me who is as colorless as water.  Allan Morris is no more fit to be her husband than—­” at loss for a simile he halted for a moment, and then burst out:  “Oh, he’s impossible!”

“So far as we have tested him, certainly,” agreed Ashton-Kirk, “he has shown no great strength of character.”

“He’s acted like a frightened child all through this affair.  He’s mixed up in it, and through his weakness allowed Edyth to also entangle herself.  Again and again he’s run to her, or called to her, to tell her of some fresh complication that he’d gotten his frightened self into; and to protect him, she has dared and done what would have frightened an ordinary woman into fits.”

“I think,” observed Ashton-Kirk, “that she has realized his position, to some extent, at least.  The fact that he is weak has, I think, dawned upon her already; she may also see his evident selfishness before long.  If she does—­why, might there not still be some hope for you, Pen?”