THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY
 
 THE 
 
 UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 BY 
 EDGAR O. ACHORN 
 
 AND 
 
 EDWARD N. TEALL 
 
 BOSTON 
 
 MARSHALL JONES COMPANY 
 MDCCCCXTX
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1919 
 BT MARSHALL JONES COMPANY 
 
 All rights reserved 
 
 THE UNIVEBSITT PBE88, CAMBRIDGE, TJ. 8. A.
 
 PART ONE 
 
 2134084
 
 THE 
 UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 PART ONE 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 MIDNIGHT was long past, and the 
 fire in the grate was burning low; 
 but as minute after minute was ticked off 
 by the old clock on the mantel, Chester 
 Clarke still sat in his study absorbed in his 
 review of the incidents of the evening. He 
 had attended a dinner given by the Sons to 
 the Daughters of the American Revolution. 
 While the speakers had rehearsed once more 
 the oft-told tales of Boston's Colonial his- 
 tory, " that chain of events which led to the 
 American Revolution, and finally secured 
 the liberty and independence of the United 
 States," he had occupied himself with an 
 unconcerned, time-passing survey of the 
 audience. 
 
 The chance opening of a vista across the 
 room had given him a glimpse of a woman 
 whose appearance had impressed him so 
 
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 swiftly and so deeply that thereafter he had 
 neglected no opportunity to note some new 
 detail of her extraordinary charm : the black 
 abundance of her lustrous hair; the delicacy 
 of her profile; the brilliant play of light and 
 shadow over her expressive face; the poise 
 of her head; the beauty of her neck and 
 shoulders ; the perfect contour of her figure. 
 These things alone would not have moved 
 him so deeply; but they were, he perceived, 
 the outward manifestations of such a dis- 
 tinctly individual personality as he had 
 never seen before. The grace of her every 
 motion served to indicate to him the crown- 
 ing graciousness of a lovely character. 
 Something indefinable about her suggested 
 that she was a stranger to her present 
 surroundings. 
 
 Chester Clarke had not been looking for 
 " the one woman," but he had accepted with- 
 out question the certainty of her ultimate 
 appearance, and now he knew that he was 
 in her presence. It was all very simple; it 
 was also satisfying. He must meet this 
 woman; he must establish a claim upon her 
 acquaintance. He waited calmly for the 
 opportunity. It was not long withheld. 
 The after-dinner "exercises" came to their 
 
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 appointed close. The last speaker's last 
 word was uttered. As the audience dis- 
 persed, Clarke kept his lady in sight as she 
 passed from the dining room into the par- 
 lors. An acquaintance of his stopped to 
 speak to the elderly couple who accom- 
 panied her, and in a moment more he had 
 secured the desired introduction. 
 
 He recalled now, with some amusement, 
 the eagerness with which he had seized upon 
 the opportunity, and the earnestness of his 
 endeavor to compass in a few minutes what, 
 with a strict regard for the conventionalities, 
 should have been the work of days. That 
 she had responded so sympathetically to his 
 informal advances augured well. He real- 
 ized now that he should have been startled, 
 perhaps dismayed, when she was named to 
 him as "Mrs. Willoughby." That implied 
 the possibility of embarrassing complica- 
 tions. Could his premonitions of affinity, so 
 vividly convincing, have disregarded the ex- 
 istence of a legal obstacle? He had felt no 
 misgivings, he remembered, even in the brief 
 interval before she had so unaffectedly, so 
 naturally, let him know that she was a 
 widow. She had indeed "let him know," 
 she had not distinctly told him, she had not 
 
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 proclaimed the fact; she had simply made 
 him aware that there had been a Mr. Wil- 
 loughby. She had also let him know that 
 she was mother to a noble boy and a beauti- 
 ful little girl. She was visiting these old 
 friends of her family, out in the suburbs ; her 
 own home was in Topeka. She remarked 
 that in a day or two she was going to 
 Toronto to join her children, who were in 
 school there. 
 
 As Clarke reconstructed the situation, he 
 rejoiced in the discovery of the one woman 
 in the world who could meet a man half way, 
 with unconventional frankness, yet with 
 perfect womanliness of decorum. She had 
 given him the address of the friends with 
 whom she was staying. Then: "Come, 
 Louise," they had called; and the interview 
 closed with the graceful inanities of a con- 
 ventional parting. 
 
 So Chester Clarke had been guilty of that 
 last monstrosity of the emotions, "love at 
 first sight." Well so be it! There were 
 classic precedents. (If anyone thought that 
 Chester Clarke needed the support of prece- 
 dent.) At any rate what had happened had 
 indubitably happened, and if it had been 
 rather radical, the utmost and the least 
 
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 that a confirmed conservative could do 
 was to see it through. 
 
 Chester Clarke had had a noble mother; 
 their relations had been peculiarly sympa- 
 thetic and tender. She had died before he 
 had emerged from his teens, but the mem- 
 ory of her life and her teachings had been 
 cherished. 
 
 His admiration of her had naturally ex- 
 tended to her sex. Because he had honored 
 his mother, he honored all women. He was 
 not deaf to the call of sex, but he was not 
 romantic. He was chivalrous, and he liked 
 women. He thoroughly enjoyed the society 
 of intelligent, womanly women. He had 
 had a sister of about his own age, and the 
 home had been the centre of a young social 
 set. His fads were masculine, completely. 
 He had pulled an oar in a winning Harvard 
 crew, and since his college days he had 
 gained some renown as a hunter of big game. 
 But he had always come back from his trips 
 into the wilds with renewed zest for social 
 functions particularly if they had literary 
 flavor. 
 
 Like all manly men, he had had his " cub " 
 love affairs and he had sometimes, in the 
 spirit of adventure, taken up the challenge 
 
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 which some woman had thrown down; but 
 he had never carried these affairs to the ex- 
 treme, he had preferred to incur the con- 
 tempt of the lady rather than to smirch his 
 own honor or hers. He represented the 
 Puritan tradition at its very best. 
 
 As for marriage, Clarke, like every other 
 normal man, had looked forward to the day 
 when he should marry, and become the head 
 of a family; and, like every other man, he 
 had formed his ideas as to what the inevi- 
 table woman would be like. But he had not 
 tried to "make a choice" among the many 
 eligible young ladies of his acquaintance ; he 
 had always felt that some day the right 
 woman would appear, and he had no doubt 
 that he would quickly recognize her. 
 
 He had never thought of marrying a 
 widow and a widow with two children! 
 Yet, now that he had met the lady, that was 
 her exact status a widow with two chil- 
 dren. But, so complete had been his sur- 
 render, the fact did not disturb him, did not 
 cause a moment's wavering. He turned to 
 his desk, and wrote, without hesitation or 
 seeking after suitable words: 
 
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 " THE BOLINGBROKE, 
 "BOSTON, March 15, 19 . 
 
 "My DEAR MRS. WILLOUGHBY: 
 
 " I know that in sending this note I lay 
 myself open to criticism, but you were so 
 very kind this evening that I venture to 
 make this appeal. 
 
 " Is it not possible for me to have another 
 opportunity of meeting you before you 
 leave Massachusetts? I should consider it 
 a great good fortune if I might! 
 " I am, I assure you, 
 
 "Most sincerely yours, 
 "CHESTER CLARKE." 
 
 Having written this note, Clarke stood 
 for more than a minute looking at his 
 mother's picture on the mantel over the fire- 
 place. Then he snapped off the light and 
 went to bed. 
 
 9
 
 CHAPTER H 
 
 fTIHE next day was a long one for 
 A Clarke. He spent it at his law office, 
 where, holding himself mechanically to his 
 task, he got through an extraordinary amount 
 of work. None of his associates had reason 
 to suspect that his calm exterior concealed 
 a state of mind the description of which, 
 coupled with Chester Clarke's name, they 
 would have considered flatly incredible. 
 
 That night he went to a dance. It was 
 better than sitting in his room in the apart- 
 ment, or at one of his clubs ; but all evening, 
 as all through the day, he found his mind 
 preoccupied with speculation on the out- 
 come of the adventure upon which he had 
 launched; an adventure only in the best 
 meaning of the word. He wondered if Mrs. 
 Willoughby would plead previous engage- 
 ments. She had met him with remarkable 
 frankness, and with something more than 
 cordiality; but could he justly assume that 
 her manner had been more frank and cor- 
 dial than it would have been with another 
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 man with any other man she might have 
 met under the same circumstances? 
 
 Ah ! but could she have met any other man 
 under the same circumstances quite the 
 same? For Clarke felt that she must have 
 known that he did not regard that introduc- 
 tion as a casual, common thing. He was 
 certain that no one else among those present 
 could possibly have suspected how impor- 
 tant the immediate winning of this woman's 
 friendly interest had suddenly become to 
 him ; and he was equally positive that, to her, 
 it had been no more secret than a lofty spire 
 glittering in the sunlight. 
 
 So much for his part. What of hers ? She 
 had recognized his secret, he could not doubt, 
 in one swift flash of comprehension. But 
 why, understanding him thus intimately, 
 had she met him with so much encourage- 
 ment? Was she insincere? It is not always 
 the man who betrays! No her sweet 
 womanliness was her guaranty. She had 
 had experience of the world, and it had not 
 hardened her; it had given her insight and 
 assurance, swift understanding and clear 
 judgment, enabling her to adopt a course 
 of conduct without experimental manoeu- 
 vring. And if he was right, then surely the 
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 woman for whose coming he had waited had 
 at last entered upon the stage of his life. 
 
 Clarke felt sure that she would reply to 
 his letter. She might say that she did not 
 care to meet him again, privately; or she 
 might appoint a time and place, with full 
 recognition of the seriousness of his inten- 
 tions. There had been too much of clear, 
 unobstructed, intuitive understanding in 
 their brief first conversation to be followed 
 by anything but finality, for happiness or 
 sadness, in the correspondence which he had 
 initiated. 
 
 The first mail the next morning, deliv- 
 ered at Clarke's apartment just before the 
 customary moment of his departure for the 
 office, brought him an envelope which must 
 be hers. He recognized at once her quality 
 in the handwriting of the address, and the 
 confirming evidence of the postmark. The 
 words within were few, but eminently satis- 
 factory to the reader. 
 
 " I was glad," she said, simply, " to have 
 your note. I shall be in town shopping to- 
 morrow, and you may see me at the Somer- 
 set at three o'clock." And "tomorrow" 
 then was " today " now. A few more hours, 
 and he would be with her. 
 12
 
 As he walked through the Public Garden 
 
 just a little jauntily! he grasped a 
 passing ragamuffin by the arm, put a quar- 
 ter into his non-resistant hand, smiled into 
 his puzzled face and said: "Everybody 
 ought to be specially happy today, my boy 
 
 let's start it." Then, seeing one or two 
 passersby looking at him curiously, he 
 quickly brought himself down from the 
 clouds, and proceeded with more customary 
 dignuy to the scene of his daily labors. 
 
 He tried to forget himself in the exac- 
 tions of his profession. He drew some 
 papers which his elder partner proclaimed 
 a work of pure genius Law married to 
 Poetry and made in a moment decisions 
 which ordinarily would have been slowly 
 pondered. And, timing himself to reach the 
 hotel at exactly five minutes before three, he 
 closed his desk and went out. 
 
 "Mrs. Walter Willoughby": the name 
 was easily found on the hotel register, for 
 the handwriting was markedly individual. 
 But the signature affected Clarke in an un- 
 defined, vaguely disturbing way. Walter! 
 In a little while she would discard her for- 
 mer husband's name. Probably it was un- 
 reasonable for him to consider her present 
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 retention of it rather more prolonged than 
 was quite necessary. 
 
 This was but a fleeting impression, and 
 did not delay him long. He sent up his card, 
 and seated himself in the ladies' parlor, 
 where he would have the best view of her as 
 she entered the room. As she paused just 
 a moment at the door, and then as she 
 crossed the room to meet him, he was over- 
 whelmed again by her beauty and by that 
 peculiar charm of graciousness which had 
 attracted him at the dinner of the Sons and 
 Daughters. Second impression not only 
 confirmed but magnified the first. 
 
 He wondered what would be her first 
 words. Her cordial smile seemed to convey, 
 more adequately than the words of a con- 
 ventional greeting could have done it, the 
 fact that she welcomed him; and, selecting 
 one from a cluster of rosebuds in her hand, 
 she said: 
 
 " Do you like flowers? But of course you 
 do you love them ! May I give you this ? " 
 
 And she drew the stem through his but- 
 tonhole. It was a simple thing enough. 
 Was it ingenuous simplicity, or a rehearsed 
 device? Clarke, manlike, admired the com- 
 bined daintiness and deftness of her man- 
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 agement ; and was conscious, as she stood so 
 near, of a radiance, an aroma a combined 
 appeal to the senses that was intoxicating, 
 but at the same time supersensual. This 
 must be what the spiritists tried to express 
 in their favorite word "aura." 
 
 In the moment that was consumed in con- 
 ducting her to a secluded alcove of the large 
 room, Clarke steadied himself. The self- 
 possession of the Clarkes, which had failed 
 them in no crisis of life since the first of their 
 long line had bought the ancestral acres from 
 their aboriginal owners for a jug of "fire- 
 water," saved him from embarrassment. 
 Mrs. Willoughby's unaffectedly unconven- 
 tional friendliness banished all possibility 
 of awkwardness. Conversation naturally 
 reverted to their first meeting. 
 
 " Do you know," he said, " it was only an 
 impulse that made me go to that dinner the 
 other night? I hadn't intended to go out, 
 but almost at the last moment the whim 
 came upon me, and I went. Wasn't it 
 great luck? I should probably never have 
 met you, had it not been for that sudden 
 impulse, and I assure you, I so seldom do 
 things in that rather childish way that I de- 
 clare I believe my lucky star was working 
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 for me ! I do not know whether to be grate- 
 ful to a kind Providence, or to the blind god 
 of Chance." 
 
 "Why, Mr. Clarke," she said, "how 
 strange! Really, it was only by accident 
 that I was there, myself. I had n't been out 
 since my husband died, almost a year ago. 
 My friends begged me to go with them, and 
 I simply couldn't resist they are such 
 dear old people, and family friends of long 
 standing, you know. So I, too, almost 
 stayed away." 
 
 "How very human we both were," said 
 Clarke, "going to our good fortune under 
 protest! Though, of course, I can't expect 
 you to be as much pleased with the result 
 as I am! Perhaps you are wondering how 
 I could ever have been so unceremonious, 
 and are going to scold me?" 
 
 "Oh, dear" it seemed almost the affec- 
 tionate vocative, rather than the impersonal 
 expletive "Oh, dear, no! Not at all! 
 Really, I understand you better than that. 
 You were anxious to be nice to me, the 
 stranger in the crowd. And it was pleasant 
 to have you greet me so informally, with 
 such frank friendliness." 
 
 "You really are a stranger in Boston?" 
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 " Not exactly a stranger. Rather, an old 
 friend revisiting the town. Father sent me 
 here, when I was a slip of a girl, to study 
 music the violin. We of the West, while 
 professing to despise your * effete East/ 
 really worship it. And the Boston Con- 
 servatory of Music was thought of as a Par- 
 nassus in Massachusetts. So I came here 
 to study, and I knew the city very well then. 
 It seems strange to me now." 
 
 She sighed prettily, and Clarke thought 
 how unprotected, how possibly lonely she 
 seemed. 
 
 " Father was very proud of my playing," 
 she said brightly, after a moment of sympa- 
 thetic silence, in which she seemed to be thor- 
 oughly appreciating his unworded friendli- 
 ness. " But after a couple of years of study 
 here I went off to New York, for a year, 
 and was married to Mr. Willoughby and 
 there was a sudden end to the budding 
 career!" 
 
 " What a pity ! But, surely, you did not 
 give up your music entirely?" 
 
 "Oh, no! Sometime you shall hear me 
 play. Once each year we had a grand musi- 
 cale out home, with professionals down from 
 the city St. Louis, you know. And I, as 
 
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 an amateur, always took a part. I really en- 
 joyed it, and my friends were kind enough 
 to say that they did, too. The newspapers 
 of the State always sent a reporter." 
 
 " I am sure everybody must have enjoyed 
 it, Mrs. Willoughby." 
 
 Clarke spoke with conviction ; and his ap- 
 preciative auditor did not remind him that, 
 having never heard her play, he was hardly 
 qualified to pass judgment. She seemed, 
 womanlike, to be too completely satisfied 
 with the kindness of his assertion to be con- 
 cerned about its critical competence. 
 
 "But how you must have regretted giv- 
 ing up your career," he added. 
 
 "Regretted it? Well, yes and no. 
 You see, my husband took me to his home in 
 the West, where the great and famous Wil- 
 loughby Works are. You have heard of 
 them, of course ; but you cannot possibly im- 
 agine what an Institution with a capital 
 I they are out there. I was busy with my 
 new home, and then the children came 
 
 She used these little pauses with artistic 
 skill. 
 
 "Was Mr. Willoughby a music lover?" 
 Clarke asked. " Did he share your delight 
 in these entertainments?" 
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 A slight film seemed to him to screen the 
 warm light of her eyes as she replied: 
 
 " Mr. Willoughby was fond of only one 
 thing, and that was business. He was 
 proud of my accomplishments ; but he never 
 had time to enjoy them with me. He was 
 always busy. He wore himself half out 
 making his fortune; and when it was made, 
 he wore himself out completely, making it 
 bigger." 
 
 "Are your children musical?" 
 
 Mrs. Willoughby's face brightened, the 
 shadow fled. 
 
 " Alice is," she said. " Ernest is just like 
 his father, strong willed and difficult to 
 manage. He has no great gift for music, 
 but he plays fairly well, and enjoys it with 
 me. But oh, Mr. Clarke," she hastened on, 
 " what a responsibility ! Alice is a dear little 
 thing, she has never given me a moment of 
 anxiety. Ernest is a fine fellow, but then 
 he is a boy, and I am only a woman, as he 
 might say so unfitted for the great task 
 of bringing up a boy. I have only one am- 
 bition for him. Wealth, station, fame, a 
 great career I don't care for these things, 
 if I can only help him grow up to be a clean, 
 honest, noble man. If I can give him char- 
 19
 
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 acter, these other things will take care of 
 themselves. You are a man, you must know 
 about such matters, where I, a woman, can 
 only plan, and hope and wonder. Am I 
 not right, dear Mr. Clarke, please tell me 
 I'm right!" 
 
 "You are right, Mrs. Willoughby in- 
 deed you are! Your son has such a mother 
 as I myself was blessed with. Your words 
 seem to me like an echo of hers. In her dear, 
 old-fashioned way she used to quote: 'the 
 pomp of circumstance and the pride of 
 power ' you know, Gray's lines about ' the 
 inevitable hour,' and ' the paths of glory.' ' 
 
 He, too, paused a moment; whether skil- 
 fully or not, certainly with effect. Then he 
 said: 
 
 "But there is your father. He must ex- 
 ercise a great and helpful influence upon 
 your Ernest." 
 
 " Father? Oh, if my dear son would only 
 turn out as well as he has ! He had no edu- 
 cation to speak of, and he fought his way to 
 the top by sheer force of character and in- 
 tellect. Business could not spoil him! I 
 wish you could know him I am sure you 
 will, some day. We were inseparable when 
 I was a child. But he is not well, now, and 
 20
 
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 he can't be with Ernest as much as I should 
 like to have him, and as he would like to be. 
 My mother is different. She is very re- 
 served ; distant, even with her own children. 
 She never really understood me." 
 
 " Did your father and mother come East 
 with you, Mrs. Willoughby?" 
 
 "No, they are at my home in Topeka. 
 My father went out there to close up my 
 husband's estate, and take care of my inter- 
 ests. Things would have been in very bad 
 shape, without his splendid business instinct 
 and experience." 
 
 Another of those momentary silences, in 
 which they seemed to effect an even more 
 complete exchange of ideas than was pos- 
 sible to them through the spoken word. 
 Then she said: 
 
 " After my husband's death I did not care 
 to stay in Topeka. The place was simply 
 impossible. I brought the children East and 
 put them in school in Toronto. I am just 
 going back to them now." 
 
 "I can quite understand," said Clarke, 
 "how dreary Topeka would seem to you, 
 after your husband was gone." 
 
 " No, Mr. Clarke, you can't really, you 
 can not ! It was not his loss alone that made 
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 the place unbearable to me. It was the Wil- 
 loughby family." She spoke with unre- 
 pressed intensity. "My husband's sisters 
 and his brothers' wives they had always 
 resented my presence, as an intruder. You 
 can have no idea what a little empire they 
 rule over. They are autocrats. As long as 
 Father Willoughby was alive, they did not 
 show their feeling toward me openly. He 
 was the emperor, and they were afraid of 
 him. But when he was gone, their spite and 
 petty jealousy showed itself. He was al- 
 ways good to me, but I know that he under- 
 stood them and knew how they really re- 
 garded me, for one day he said to me: 
 'Louise, they are all jealous of you! I can 
 understand it perfectly, too,' he said, ' though 
 I can do nothing to prevent it. You are a 
 woman who will never have many friends 
 among your own sex.' And I never have. 
 I wonder why?" 
 
 She paused long enough to give Clarke 
 opportunity to formulate a complimentary 
 answer in his mind, but not to express it 
 orally; then she resumed: 
 
 " I did my best to get along with them all, 
 but they seemed always to suspect me of 
 some kind of unfriendly intentions I 
 22
 
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 don't know what, and I am quite sure I 
 never gave them any cause for such un- 
 friendliness ; but there it was, a very real 
 and a very unpleasant thing. And now 
 they are all hovering around poor old Mother 
 Willoughby, just waiting for her to die 
 she has the Willoughby millions now, you 
 see. Oh, this money," she exclaimed, with a 
 vehemence that made her in Clarke's eyes 
 more charming than ever, " how I despise 
 it! Not for its own sake," she added, just 
 a little archly, " but for the things it does to 
 the people who let it rule their lives and de- 
 stroy their happiness." 
 
 " Are you going back to Topeka? " asked 
 Clarke. ' 
 
 " Only long enough to pack up and move 
 out. My father is going to build a house in 
 San Francisco, and I shall make my home 
 with him that is, if mother is willing to 
 have me and the children live with them. If 
 it were not for them, I should be quite alone 
 in the world." 
 
 She spoke the words calmly enough, but 
 to Clarke they seemed sad. He wanted to 
 tell her that she need never be alone in the 
 world while he was in it ; but he did not trust 
 himself, and so he let the conversation turn 
 23
 
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 into less intimately personal channels. They 
 were very happy together. 
 
 The afternoon waned, and rude barbari- 
 ans began to invade the privacy of their re- 
 treat. Clarke, preparing to wrench himself 
 away from this charming company, said : 
 
 "I wish that we might have dined to- 
 gether, but I have an imperative engage- 
 ment for this evening. It happens that I 
 am the president of the Harvard Alumni 
 Association, and tonight we have our annual 
 dinner. It is to be a very special occasion, 
 too, for we are to entertain the Presidents 
 of Yale and Princeton." 
 
 "How delightful!" 
 
 " I would gladly forgo the distinction of 
 having these two celebrities on either side of 
 me, to dine with you but the gallery is 
 to be reserved for the ladies. Perhaps you 
 would do me the honor to attend ? It would 
 be a great pleasure to escort you there, and 
 to your hotel after the speaking. I don't 
 like to think of your spending a lonely even- 
 ing and it would be a wonderful inspira- 
 tion to have you present, if I may make so 
 selfish a plea." 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Clarke," she cried, " how good 
 of you! I should enjoy it more than any- 
 24
 
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 thing else that could happen! It will be 
 a real treat. It is ages since I have heard 
 any good public speaking and, besides, it 
 will be fun to see how you acquit yourself." 
 
 "Very well, then it is settled. I shall 
 call for you at half past six." 
 
 And he went away, to await with such 
 patience as he might command the coming 
 of the appointed time. 
 
 25
 
 CHAPTER m 
 
 LARKE was on his way to Toronto, 
 to spend a week-end with the Wil- 
 loughbys. As he travelled, his mind passed 
 in review the events that marked the history 
 of his friendship with Mrs. Willoughby : the 
 meeting at the dinner of the Sons and 
 Daughters ; his note, requesting a more inti- 
 mate interview, and her favorable reply; 
 their delightful afternoon at the Somerset, 
 and the Harvard dinner the night before her 
 departure for Canada. 
 
 That had been a wonderfully successful 
 night, and had strengthened their mutual 
 understanding. He had obtained for her a 
 front seat in the balcony, where many ladies 
 gathered as the hour for the speaking ap- 
 proached. As usual, she had been, quite 
 without ostentation, the most eye-command- 
 ing figure of them all ; her costuming was so 
 perfectly in tune with the occasion, and her 
 manner so completely adjusted to the situ- 
 ation. From her place of vantage she had 
 26
 
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 seen, and appreciated to the full, a most im- 
 pressive manifestation of the spirit of the 
 men of Harvard. 
 
 Clarke, presiding, had been at his best: 
 stimulated by pride in his college and by 
 satisfaction in the presence of his friend. It 
 had been a Harvard night long to be remem- 
 bered, from the first moment to the last 
 when all, standing, sang " Fair Harvard." 
 
 Mrs. Willoughby had been deeply im- 
 pressed by the significance of this foregath- 
 ering of the men who represented, individu- 
 ally and collectively, the standards and the 
 influence of Harvard. The enthusiasm of 
 the diners had struck a responsive chord in 
 her own vivacious spirit, and she had not 
 failed to appreciate at its full value the 
 strength and beauty of the idea that ran 
 through all the speeches the exhortation 
 to maintain the high standard of civic duty 
 demanded by the inspiring, and exacting, 
 traditions of the old college. 
 
 ' You Harvard men retain in all its pur- 
 ity the New England tradition," she had 
 said. "I liked your address yes, I liked 
 it very much. But I liked your little in- 
 troductions of the speakers even more. 
 They were like the stars, that shine quietly 
 27
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 and do not envy the sun its greater oppor- 
 tunities. And I think we like the stars even 
 more than we do the sun don't you?" 
 
 This little trick of deference appealed to 
 Clarke's masculine sense of superiority. 
 
 " I have to thank you for a most delight- 
 ful evening," she had said. "My boy must 
 go to Harvard." 
 
 The next morning, Mrs. Willoughby had 
 gone back to Toronto, to rejoin her chil- 
 dren. She had asked him not to go to the 
 station to see her off, as he wished to do; 
 and her request had puzzled and disap- 
 pointed him, though he had acquiesced with 
 a readiness of compliance which he felt that 
 he could never withhold from her, however 
 unnecessarily exacting her demands might 
 seem. She had, however, granted without 
 hesitation his request to be allowed to write 
 to her, and during the intervening weeks 
 they had engaged in a correspondence which 
 had been to Clarke an unfailing wellspring 
 of delight. And now, in a few hours, he 
 was to see her, to hear again her musical 
 speech, to feel the touch of her hand, to live 
 a little while in that strange exaltation to 
 which her near presence seemed always to 
 raise him. 
 
 28
 
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 He reached Toronto as the night was set- 
 ting in. He had just time to dress com- 
 fortably for dinner. 
 
 In one of the parlors of the hotel he found 
 Mrs. Willoughby and the children awaiting 
 him. The fine air of almost deferential re- 
 gard for his approval with which she pre- 
 sented them to him impressed him as the sin- 
 cerest and best compliment that had ever 
 been rendered him. And it was a pleasure 
 to meet such children. Ernest was, as his 
 mother had described him, a tall, manly 
 chap of thirteen, with a light complexion, 
 tawny hair, and a more serious expression 
 than is common to boys of his age. He 
 seemed to feel the responsibility of his posi- 
 tion as the oldest male member of the family, 
 and therefore properly to be regarded as its 
 head. He took Clarke's hand with a firm, 
 strong clasp, and a mingled modesty and 
 assurance that pleased the visitor greatly. 
 
 Alice was like her mother. Her hair and 
 skin were darker than her brother's. She 
 was slim and graceful; and on being intro- 
 duced, she curtseyed in English fashion. 
 The children were delightfully free from the 
 modern self-assertiveness that so often re- 
 verses the old-fashioned idea of the superior 
 29
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 right of their elders to attention, and they 
 were also pleasantly advanced beyond the 
 harsh dictum of an earlier generation that 
 children should always be seen and not 
 heard. 
 
 Clarke studied them swiftly in those first, 
 important moments. He was extremely 
 anxious to establish himself in their good 
 graces, and he knew that Mrs. Willoughby 
 hoped just as sincerely that they might make 
 a wholly favorable impression on him. He 
 felt immediately sure that he and the little 
 girl would become good friends without diffi- 
 culty, but of the boy he was not quite so cer- 
 tain. There was a quiet reserve about the 
 lad that made Clarke wonder if he were 
 definitely guarding against the possibility 
 of conferring the gift of his friendship too 
 soon upon one who might possibly usurp the 
 place he felt to be rightfully his the place 
 of protector, if not as yet provider, that had 
 been left vacant by the death of his father. 
 Clarke did not make the mistake of under- 
 estimating the boy's capacity for under- 
 standing a situation and formulating a 
 course of conduct for himself. He knew 
 that to attempt openly to win the friendship 
 of this boy would be a sure way to defeat 
 30
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 his own purposes. He must simply wait for 
 Ernest to come to him. It would not be 
 easy, but it was the only way. 
 
 As he passed down the long dining hall 
 with his tall hostess at his side and the chil- 
 dren following, Clarke thanked Heaven as 
 he never before had thought of doing for the 
 height of figure it had given him, and for 
 the manly proportioned breadth of his shoul- 
 ders. It was impossible to make that prog- 
 ress without being pleasantly conscious of 
 the interested glances of the people seated 
 at the tables. To act as escort to this tall, 
 darkly beautiful woman was no slight test 
 of a man's self-possession, and fitness of ap- 
 pearance. And it was an innocent vanity 
 that made Clarke enjoy it almost as if it had 
 been a personal triumph, even here among 
 strangers. 
 
 At the table, opposite Mrs. Willoughby, 
 with the children on either side between 
 them, Clarke played paterfamilias, and en- 
 joyed it thoroughly. 
 
 " What a pleasant place for your tempo- 
 rary home," he remarked. " It is just Eng- 
 lish enough in atmosphere to be attractive, 
 and has all the American comforts. May 
 I ask how you came to settle in Toronto?" 
 31
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 "A friend recommended it as the one 
 place where Ernest could find a school con- 
 ducted on the Rugby plan, both in methods 
 of instruction and in discipline; and Alice, 
 too, could have the advantage of a girls' 
 school like those in England. They say the 
 English schools are equal to ours in all re- 
 spects, and superior in some; for instance, 
 in the training in deportment, which I 
 consider as important as mathematics or 
 history." 
 
 Clarke smiled at Ernest, and the boy 
 responded. 
 
 " It gives a fellow the finest kind of train- 
 ing," he said. " I 'm 'way ahead of the chaps 
 of my age back home. We have jolly sport, 
 with drill, and soccer and rugger. Cricket 
 is n't half so slow, either, the way these fel- 
 lows play it. And isn't it odd, one of our 
 best boys is named Tom Brown. We drill 
 with real guns, too. That's the best thing 
 about it. They are twenty-twos, and we 
 have target practice." 
 
 "Mr. Clarke can well understand your 
 enjoyment of that, Ernest," said Mrs. Wil- 
 loughby; "you know, he is a famous sports- 
 man, and no doubt he can tell you some 
 good stories about his adventures." 
 32
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 " Have you shot big game, sir? " asked the 
 boy, his eyes bright with curious interest. 
 
 'Yes," said Clarke, "I have hunted in 
 South America, in our own West, and in 
 British Columbia in fact pretty much 
 everywhere that game can be found on this 
 side of the world. Some day I hope to do 
 Africa and India. How would you like to 
 go on a hunting trip with me, some time? " 
 
 " That would be great fun," the boy ex- 
 claimed. " But I should like to hear some 
 of your stories, right now." 
 
 "I should like to hear them, too," said 
 Alice. "If they are not too cruel," she 
 added. "I like to hear about adventures, 
 even if I am only a girl, but I don't like to 
 think of the animals getting shot unless 
 they are very wild and dangerous." 
 
 " Mr. Clarke will have to get up a ladies' 
 edition of some of the stories for us, little 
 daughter," said Mrs. Willoughby. " Some 
 day we shall hear them together ; but now it 
 is time for you young folks to be at your 
 evening lessons." 
 
 Turning to Clarke, she said : " They al- 
 ways spend an hour before bed-time with 
 their books. We have a splendid governess, 
 who has a wonderful knack of making study 
 33
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 interesting. She goes over the day's work 
 with them each evening, and is remarkably 
 effective in making their class instruction 
 * stick." 
 
 As Ernest and Alice went off to the fam- 
 ily apartment, their mother said: 
 
 " They are bright children, and stand high 
 at school, but I think they are perfectly 
 normal; I mean, normally lively mis- 
 chievous and gay." 
 
 "They are fine children," said Clarke. 
 "Bright, jolly, full of fun and good spirits 
 and wonderfully well trained. You 
 should be a proud mother, Mrs. Wil- 
 loughby!" 
 
 "Indeed, I am," she replied; and by the 
 light in her eyes, he saw that his enthusiastic 
 appreciation of the children's virtues had 
 scored. Besides satisfying the natural 
 mother-pride, he had gratified the beauti- 
 fully naive craving for praise that he 
 counted one of her most adorable qualities. 
 
 The children gone, they two sat and 
 talked, in the pleasant half -isolation of a 
 cosy corner of the hotel parlor. 
 
 "Really," said Mrs. Willoughby, "while 
 the children's education was an important 
 factor in my decision to come here, it was 
 34
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 not the principal one. They could have 
 done just as well in the schools of our own 
 East. But the situation at Topeka was be- 
 coming intolerable. I had taken care of my 
 husband all through his illness, and was 
 pretty well worn out at the end." 
 
 'You must have been," said Clarke. 
 " Is n't it curious, how paths so widely sepa- 
 rated as were yours and mine at that time 
 should since have crossed, and joined?" 
 
 She smiled brightly. 
 
 "It was not only the physical strain," she 
 went on, " but the wear and tear of nerves. 
 I was surrounded by those who were not at 
 all friendly to me, and in the midst of vul- 
 gar intrigue. It was the worst possible place 
 for the children. They were constantly 
 hearing talk about money, and social posi- 
 tion everything except what healthy, in- 
 nocent young people ought to hear. So I 
 just decided to run away." 
 
 " It was the wisest thing you could have 
 done, and you seem very comfortably settled 
 here. But do you not find it lonely, with 
 the children gone all day? " 
 
 " Sometimes I wish I could have them 
 with me every minute," she said. "But it 
 would not do for them, for Ernest espe- 
 35
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 cially, to be kept too closely at home. They 
 have their own little interests, and I do not 
 mean to dictate every thought and act of 
 their lives." 
 
 "That is the commonest of parental 
 errors," said Clarke. " You are to be con- 
 gratulated as possessor both of the knowl- 
 edge and of what is still more rare, the abil- 
 ity to regulate your conduct by it. But how 
 do you occupy your time through the day; 
 have you friends here?" 
 
 "At first, it was delightful just to be 
 alone. I rested, and enjoyed the peace and 
 quiet, the freedom from the clash and clatter 
 of those utterly selfish folk at Topeka. It 
 was almost like being a nun, those first 
 weeks in Toronto; I spent a good deal of 
 time in meditation, and found it refreshing 
 and restorative." 
 
 "And then," suggested Clarke, "as you 
 regained your normal strength and mental 
 comfort? You see, I am frankly curious, 
 and ready to stretch the definition of 
 friendship to make it include a good deal 
 of questioning. Can you put up with it? " 
 
 "What could be easier? Of course, as I 
 began to look about more, I found various 
 interests to concern myself with. A woman 
 36
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 has always the shops, you know, and church. 
 Then there was a course of public lectures 
 at the University on ' The Religious Motive 
 in English Literature.' They were given 
 by Professor Hargrave, of Oxford. I at- 
 tended the course, and enjoyed the lectures 
 and also profited by them greatly." 
 
 " I know Hargrave, by reputation," said 
 Clarke. " He is said to be a fine scholar." 
 
 "A very human one, too," she com- 
 mented. "But when I first met him, he 
 was, oh, such a homesick body! It was 
 almost funny to see him, he was so complete 
 a victim ; one thinks of a giant of intellect as 
 being immune to the common afflictions. 
 Really, it was pathetic, and I undertook to 
 do what I could to comfort him. He had 
 dinner with us two or three times, and he 
 took us all to the Ice Carnival." 
 
 "That ought to have cured him," said 
 Clarke. 
 
 "It is best to be perfectly frank and I 
 shall be so. The cure was so complete that 
 the patient became the test of the physi- 
 cian's endurance. The Professor has been 
 rather persistent in his attentions. I don't 
 suppose there is anything to be done, but 
 it is a relief to have told you about it." 
 37
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 "And as the tale ends it is a relief to 
 hear it," he commented, somewhat humor- 
 ously, "although I suppose I ought to feel 
 a measure of sympathy for the Professor." 
 
 The conversation took another turn, and 
 shortly after the children appeared and 
 Clarke bade the family good night. 
 
 The next day, Sunday, he went to church 
 with the family in the morning, and in the 
 afternoon drove through the parks of the 
 city. It was, for Clarke, a memorable ride. 
 Sitting beside this beautiful woman, he felt 
 her personality every moment of the way as 
 he had never imagined such a companion- 
 ship could be felt. Once they left the car- 
 riage for a minute, to enjoy a roadside view; 
 and as Mrs. Willoughby took the hand he 
 proffered to assist her in alighting, it seemed 
 to him he could never let it go. Laughing 
 to cover the earnestness of his feeling, he 
 told her so. She smiled, and uttered only 
 a word of playful protest; but she gave his 
 hand a little pressure more eloquent than 
 words. 
 
 When Clarke went back to Boston and 
 his work, he carried with him happy mem- 
 ories and a strengthened conviction of the 
 permanence of this new relationship. 
 38
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 A MONTH later, and Chester Clarke 
 was expecting a visitor from Toronto. 
 When he himself had been a visitor there, 
 it was winter. Now the season was chang- 
 ing, and with the vernal joys had to be 
 counted the near approach of her gracious 
 presence. 
 
 No wonder the doves on the Common put 
 forth their brighter iris, and the human 
 cooers graced the benches. The Frog Pond 
 had been cleaned and flooded with the neces- 
 sary number of quarts of fresh water. The 
 swan boats in the Public Garden had been 
 brought out and recommissioned for their 
 summer's work; the pansy beds had been 
 set in readiness for their annual bloom- 
 ing at the feet of Washington, where the 
 Father of his Country patiently bestrides 
 his impetuous steed. The Sacred Cod, as if 
 revivified by secretly administered doses 
 of grandmotherly sulphur and molasses, 
 gleamed in every scale with more ineffable 
 effulgence. It was spring in Boston; not 
 39
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 the irrepressible, effervescent, songful spring 
 of softer climes but spring as Boston 
 knows it. 
 
 Chester Clarke shared the invigorating 
 impulse with the rest of the Boston micro- 
 cosm; and with more reason, because for 
 whom else had the warming days so great 
 a joy in store? 
 
 During the weeks the letters that had 
 passed from Boston to Toronto, and from 
 Toronto to Boston, had been steadily fre- 
 quent, and increasingly intimate. They 
 had not yet become fervent; but they were 
 affectionate. 
 
 His letters had been written always in 
 perfectly conventional terms but they 
 were founded upon the fact that he was 
 deeply in love, and upon the conviction that 
 his love was known and, in some measure 
 at least, reciprocated. It had now become 
 his settled, and avowed, purpose to marry 
 Mrs. Willoughby just as soon as he could 
 remove whatever obstacles might be up- 
 raised in the path of his determination. 
 
 And her letters to him? She had written, 
 
 fully and frankly and with perfect trust, of 
 
 her own daily experiences, of the children's 
 
 work and play, of the news that came from 
 
 40
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 the West, of her plans for the future. She 
 had spoken of Alice's frequent mention of 
 him; but of Ernest she said less. Ernest, 
 he knew, would be an important factor in 
 his problem. He felt sure the boy liked 
 him, as a man, and would be ready to admit 
 him to his friendship. But the boy was so 
 zealous even jealous a guardian of his 
 mother, so proud of his position as head of 
 the fatherless family, that Clarke could not 
 imagine him giving ready acquiescence to 
 his Clarke's or any other man's inten- 
 tion to marry Mrs. Willoughby. He knew 
 that she would never wholly consent to any 
 man's suit for her hand and heart if Ernest, 
 growing older all the time, and more en- 
 titled to a voice in family affairs, opposed. 
 He admired the boy's high spirit, and he 
 saw clearly how important it was to win him 
 over. But the boy's opposition, if such there 
 was to be, could not be overridden. Ernest 
 was "all boy," but in some respects much 
 older than his years. This was one of those 
 obstacles which one surmounts only by going 
 around them. From her later letters he had 
 gathered that the situation at Topeka was 
 not satisfactory to her; that something was 
 disturbing her, and making her restless in 
 41
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 her peaceful Canadian retreat. She was 
 planning, he had perceived, to leave To- 
 ronto; or, if not yet definitely planning a 
 hegira, she was tending strongly in that 
 (direction. 
 
 And so, gratified by her unrestricted con- 
 fidences and eager to be of assistance, he 
 had thrown convention aside and had writ- 
 ten her suggesting that she come to Boston 
 for a few days before going back to Topeka. 
 He might be able to advise her, he had writ- 
 ten, and nothing could make him happier. 
 His engagements were such that he would 
 not be able to go north again, but they could 
 easily arrange a meeting in Boston; and, 
 besides, he was entitled to a return visit. 
 
 In reply, she had written, with character- 
 istic frankness, that she had considered his 
 suggestion and would accept it; she would 
 send the children on to Topeka in care of 
 their governess, and would come to Boston 
 as soon as they were on their way West. 
 
 And now, with spring just beginning to 
 warm the land and stir anew the hearts of 
 men, she was coming! It was a fine even- 
 ing, with soft air and clear skies, when at 
 last the reward of patience came and Clarke 
 went to the North Station. It was a great 
 42
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 moment for him when the train from the 
 North rolled in. 
 
 He hurried down the platform, and was 
 at the car step as she descended. As she 
 saw him waiting there her face brightened 
 with that wonderful smile of hers, and as 
 he grasped her hand she said, with an undis- 
 guised pleasure that was most precious to 
 him, " Oh, Mr. Clarke! How glad I am to 
 see you ! As we passed through the suburbs, 
 and then as the lights of the city began to 
 flash by, I became almost frightened it 
 seemed so dreadful to think that something 
 might have happened to keep you from 
 coming to meet me ! " 
 
 " And I," said Clarke, " would have been 
 in a panic if you had not been on this train. 
 I should have imagined the most appalling 
 things. Reason might have told me that 
 any little untoward incident could have de- 
 tained you, that there would surely be a tele- 
 gram explaining the delay and yet, a fear- 
 ful imagination would have outvoiced all 
 the promptings of reason, and I should have 
 worried terribly." 
 
 In a moment Clarke had arranged for the 
 care of Mrs. Willoughby's luggage, and in 
 a moment more they were sitting side by side 
 43
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 in a cab. It was the first time in all their 
 acquaintance that they had been alone, to- 
 gether, in perfect privacy! 
 
 The beautiful woman who sat beside him 
 had come to him, defying the tyranny of 
 social convention. Why? Suppose he could 
 not say, as he would have wished to say, 
 "Because she loves me." No one could 
 challenge his right to say, "Because she 
 trusts me ! " 
 
 Every atom of chivalry in his being re- 
 sponded to the situation. How he would 
 have liked to caress her! Yet the very ele- 
 ments that had entered into and had brought 
 about the situation forbade it. It only re- 
 mained for him as he felt the thrill of her 
 presence to modulate the exultation in his 
 voice, and keep himself within the bounds of 
 "propriety" to reaffirm his pleasure at 
 seeing her, and to ask a dozen commonplace 
 questions. 
 
 Clarke had engaged an apartment for her 
 at the Sympatica on Commonwealth Ave- 
 nue. He had spent several hours in select- 
 ing it; among many possibilities, this was 
 perfection. The parlor was not too large 
 to be cosy, and was decorated and furnished 
 in the best of taste. The windows opened 
 44
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 upon the Avenue. The nights were still 
 pretty sharp, and an open fire burned cheer- 
 fully in the grate. The table was laid for 
 dinner for two, and in the centre of it a vase 
 of La France roses was gloriously beautiful. 
 
 Clarke did not ask her if she liked it. He 
 knew she would. 
 
 "How cosy! How homelike!" she ex- 
 claimed. "What beautiful roses! How 
 thoughtful of you!" 
 
 Clarke had planned the dinner and it 
 proved a great success. Its crowning joy 
 came when, as they reached the end, he 
 lighted a cigarette and watched this beauti- 
 ful woman pour the coffee. 
 
 She asked whether he would have two 
 lumps of sugar or one. There was domes- 
 ticity for you the dream of the bachelor 
 made real! Then with an arch smile, she 
 passed him his cup as if quite cognizant of 
 the thoughts that ran through his mind. 
 
 A little later Mrs. Willoughby asked if 
 she might be excused to change her travel- 
 ling dress for something more comfortable. 
 " I know you want me to feel quite at home," 
 she said. 
 
 Clarke placed an easy chair before the 
 fire and, lighting a cigar, looked over the 
 45
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 Transcript while he waited, like a true 
 Bostonian. 
 
 When she came back, and stood before 
 him, she seemed as one " confessing the god- 
 dess in her walk," so lovely was her presence 
 and so fitting to the part the filmy thing she 
 wore. It was of soft material, cut low at 
 the throat and falling in classic lines from 
 a loose girdle high at the waist. 
 
 " Do you like my selection? " she asked. 
 
 "Like it!" he exclaimed. "Like it? I 
 more than like it! It is charming I can 
 hardly believe you to be anything but a 
 Greek goddess, come to make our Boston 
 the Athenian paradise we pretend it is." 
 
 Pleased with the compliment, she said : 
 
 "Foolish man! You behold no goddess, 
 Greek or Bostonian but just a very tired 
 American woman, afflicted with a traveller's 
 headache. And she would like to lie down 
 on this couch and rest; and you may sit 
 beside her, and talk to her if you will." 
 
 Clarke jumped out of his chair. 
 
 "Do let me make you comfortable," he 
 said. " How selfish of me, to forget, in my 
 enjoyment of our reunion, that you must be 
 quite worn out after your long journey." 
 
 He placed a pillow for her, he turned out 
 46
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 the electric jet on the wall above her, leav- 
 ing the room in a more subdued light. Then 
 he stood looking down at her, as she closed 
 her eyes and pressed her hand to her 
 forehead. 
 
 "Perhaps I can help you," he said. "I 
 have often relieved a headache by stroking 
 the temples. My dear mother used to say 
 I had a healing hand." 
 
 "May I try?" he asked, attempting to 
 keep his voice from betraying the eagerness 
 of his desire. 
 
 She answered with a smile, and just the 
 suggestion of a nod of assent. He ran his 
 fingers across her forehead and temples and 
 through the masses of her hair. Conversa- 
 tion grew halting, then ceased altogether. 
 
 Again and again she opened her eyes, as 
 if resisting the drowsiness that descended 
 upon her, then the heavy lids fell and she 
 was asleep. 
 
 Clarke sat and watched her. Her breath- 
 ing became deep and regular. How lovely 
 she seemed, how sweet, how pure; and how 
 she trusted him! Her trust was well 
 founded on his love. He rose, cautiously 
 crossed the room, took up an afghan and 
 spread it over her. 
 
 47
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 He bent over her, gently, carefully; and 
 touched her forehead softly with his lips. 
 Then he took his hat and coat and tiptoed 
 out of the room. 
 
 The next morning, shortly before ten 
 o'clock, Clarke stopped, on his way to the 
 office, to pay his compliments to Mrs. Wil- 
 loughby and to arrange a programme for 
 the day. 
 
 She apologized for her rudeness in falling 
 asleep and neglecting her caller. Clarke 
 gave back apology for apology, saying that 
 he must have been terribly dull, thus to " put 
 her to sleep." 
 
 " You did put me to sleep," she said, " and 
 it was the very best thing anyone could have 
 done for me. I was so tired, what with the 
 train ride and the worry I had been through ; 
 and it was so refreshing to sleep, without 
 feeling any sense of anxiety. I woke just 
 before midnight, and after saying my 
 prayers went to bed, my headache gone, and 
 such a perfect peace in my heart as I had 
 not enjoyed for some time." 
 
 " I am glad you had a good night," said 
 Clarke. 
 
 Instead of replying with a commonplace 
 of conversation, she gave Clarke one of those 
 48
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 flashing insights into the depths of her na- 
 ture which repeatedly confirmed and en- 
 larged his regard of her as a most wonderful 
 woman. 
 
 " Mr. Clarke," she said, " the night hours 
 are to me the dearest of all. I think when 
 the noises of the day have subsided, and the 
 night draws close about us, our spirits are 
 freed, our powers expand, and we are more 
 at one with the soul of the universe, nearer 
 to God. I suppose" her mind always 
 tended to give even to such speculations a 
 practical application "I suppose that is 
 why the Catholic Church, and to some extent 
 the Episcopal, have masses at such hours 
 as seem to most Protestants well, say 
 unreasonable." 
 
 "Unreasonable?" Clarke repeated the 
 word, with interrogative inflection. " The 
 word seems to me to fit the case so perfectly 
 that I cannot quite make out why you em- 
 phasized it so oddly." 
 
 "Why don't you see? It has a very 
 special fitness, as I used it. Reason should 
 have no place in religion! " 
 
 Somewhat surprised, Clarke said that he 
 would not care for a religion that was not 
 built upon the bed rock of reason. 
 49
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 "Oh, no!" she said. "You are wrong! 
 Religion is all faith and love and faith 
 comes of concentration upon the Infinite 
 and our finite minds come closer to the Ever- 
 lasting Power at night. Don't you see what 
 a chain it makes?" 
 
 "A chain of logic," said Clarke. "And 
 logic is reason! But," he hastened to add, 
 "your idea of faith is too beautiful, too 
 purely lovely, to be assailed with rude mas- 
 culine arguments." 
 
 " And we are not going to argue the case 
 of Reason versus Faith this beautiful morn- 
 ing, are we? Let us each make some conces- 
 sion, and say that reason should take its 
 light from faith, and faith gain greater 
 strength from reason." 
 
 Then, with one of her charmingly swift 
 transitions from grave to gay, she asked: 
 
 "Well, sir, what have you planned for 
 this lovely day? Surely so true a knight will 
 not let his lady languish but you must not 
 let my presence intrude upon your profes- 
 sional duties!" 
 
 "My professional duties end," said 
 
 Clarke, "at four o'clock on ordinary days, 
 
 but an hour earlier on special days, like this ; 
 
 and at three I shall call for you, and after a 
 
 50
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 good, long drive through the country we 
 shall dine at the Touraine." 
 
 "And this evening?" she asked. 
 
 "This evening," he said gravely, "is re- 
 served for our consultation. You said, you 
 know, you were anxious to * consult' me." 
 
 " Splendid," she said. " But all the time 
 The Law is waiting, and I do not propose 
 to incur its wrath by keeping you another 
 minute. So, au revoir!" 
 
 And Clarke went to work with a light 
 heart.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 PROMPTLY at three o'clock Clarke 
 knocked at the door of Mrs. Wil- 
 loughby's apartment. As he entered, she 
 stood by the mantel-shelf, facing him. Her 
 eyes were bright with anticipation. The 
 mid-afternoon sunlight, streaming into the 
 room, fell full upon her and her bold 
 figure and dark coloring stood the test as 
 a daintier form and fairer complexion might 
 not have done. 
 
 ' You are punctual, Mr. Clarke," she said ; 
 " and I am ready." 
 
 Then her radiant smile changed to a look 
 of wonder, and this in turn to one of com- 
 prehension and joy, for Chester Clarke's 
 emotions, long pent up behind the dam 
 reared by his chivalrous will, had burst 
 forth, and stormed over him, bearing away 
 like foam on a flooding stream all his stern 
 resolves. Mind yielded at last to heart, as 
 in the end it does for normally constituted 
 folk; and, crossing the room in three steps, 
 he clasped the lovely woman in his arms, 
 52
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 kissing her, passionately. He kissed her 
 mouth her eyes her hair. 
 
 She did not resist. She did not move, nor 
 speak. 
 
 At length he gave over, and, holding her 
 close, with her head resting against his 
 shoulder, he said: "Tell me! Tell me 
 that you love me. Louise you do! You 
 must! " 
 
 She did not speak. He saw that her eyes, 
 so close to his, were veiled, and in each stood 
 a tear. He kissed them away. 
 
 She opened her eyes, she raised them to 
 his. How tired they looked but trusting, 
 brimming full with love. She need not 
 have spoken a word to carry her response. 
 Her pledge was visibly recorded in her 
 eyes. But she did speak not timidly, not 
 boldly, but with the best sincerity of a 
 woman grown, a woman who knows her will, 
 a woman who is won, and happily yields, 
 without pretence of reservation. 
 
 'Yes, I love you," she said; and again 
 the rain of kisses fell. 
 
 "And you will marry me, dear one?" 
 
 His voice did not tremble, but his hands 
 
 were cold. 'You will be my wife? Oh, 
 
 Louise, my darling, I lay before you all 
 
 53
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 that I am, all that I hope ever to be! 
 Thank God for sending you into my lifel 
 Tell me that you will stay there forever 
 and let me care for you, let me love you. 
 Will you, my beautiful Louise?" 
 
 She still let herself rest close to him. She 
 looked up at him confidingly; and yet, her 
 eyes reflected doubt. What could it be? 
 Surely, she could not question the genuine- 
 ness, the permanence, of his love! Surely, 
 she must know that back of the sudden dec- 
 laration lay a long history of love! What- 
 ever the doubt was, he would kill it. 
 
 "Tell me, dear," he said softly, "tell me 
 why your eyes are clouded, when your heart, 
 I know, is filled with joy ? " 
 
 " Oh, Chester," she said, " I cannot prom- 
 ise you just yet: I want to, I really do; I 
 love you, you know I love you! But there 
 are so many things that stand in the way 
 I must not be selfish, there are others to be 
 thought of first: before myself yes, even 
 before you! Their happiness must come 
 first. Oh, Chester, I am in such trouble! 
 Don't ask me the great, the wonderful ques- 
 tion now. Wait! Is it not enough that I 
 tell you that I love oh, I do love you! 
 Isn't that enough for now?" 
 54
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 " Dearest, it is everything almost every- 
 thing, and I can wait, if you say we must 
 wait. But tell me, once more, you love me ! " 
 
 " Chester, I do, I love you more than life, 
 more than anything except duty to my 
 children. They must come first; but my 
 heart is yours, yours forever." 
 
 ' You make me happy, very happy, almost 
 perfectly happy. But now you must know 
 that if there are obstacles that stand in the 
 way, I shall be always beside you, to help 
 you overcome them. If you are in trouble, 
 I shall always claim the right you have now 
 given me, to share it with you." 
 
 As by a single impulse, they moved to the 
 divan and sat down together; Clarke still 
 holding both her hands in his. Now and 
 then he raised them to his lips. 
 
 "Now, dear," he said, "tell me tell me 
 everything. I only know parts of the story ; 
 tell me the rest. I cannot help you as I 
 wish to unless I know every detail." 
 
 "It is a long story," she said; "too long 
 to tell now. But it is a relief to be able to 
 talk to you without reserve. I have always 
 trusted you more than anyone else, but this 
 is different ; now there is not a detail I would 
 wish to conceal from you, not a fact, how- 
 55
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 ever private and personal, I would hesitate 
 to tell you about. I want to tell you every- 
 thing, I want your help and protection. 
 Say what you will, let her be courageous as 
 she may and yet the woman who has to 
 fight her own battles in the world is to be 
 pitied; a woman alone is so so incom- 
 plete!" 
 
 Clarke blessed her for the brave humor 
 that refused to let its light be dimmed by the 
 shadow of any trouble. 
 
 " And I," she added, " have been fighting 
 all alone my own battles, and those of 
 my children." 
 
 He drew her to him, kissed her, and said: 
 "Dear, that chapter in your life is closed, 
 those difficulties shall not oppress you again. 
 They are mine now and I will take care 
 of them!" 
 
 She thrilled to the consciousness of his 
 strength. She put her hand over his. 
 
 "Heart's desire!" she said; not tremu- 
 lously, but with that decision which he ad- 
 mired in her. 
 
 " Heart's satisfaction," he exclaimed ; and 
 kissed her again. 
 
 " And now, my dear one," she said, " we 
 must come back to earth. See we have 
 56
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 kept the carriage waiting nearly an hour. 
 Come help me with my wrap." 
 
 " I shall tell you the whole story tonight," 
 she said, as they went out. 
 
 That was a happy drive! 
 
 57
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 LARKE'S unpremeditated proposal 
 had made it more than ever necessary 
 for these two people to attain to perfect 
 understanding of what had now become 
 their common cause. The "consultation" 
 was now not merely important and desirable, 
 it was indispensable and inevitable. There- 
 fore after dinner they returned to the apart- 
 ment, and made themselves comfortable in 
 preparation for a long and serious talk. 
 Clarke savored with unalloyed delight the 
 domesticity of the situation. Leaning back 
 in his roomy armchair, he lighted a cigar, 
 and said : 
 
 "Now for the story! And you shall tell 
 it in your own way ; as we say in court, with- 
 out interruption and without leading ques- 
 tions from counsel." 
 
 "No please!" she said; "that would be 
 too much like the Judge's solemn charge to 
 the jury. I would much rather have you 
 ask questions and give suggestions as we 
 go along." 
 
 58
 
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 "Very well," said Clarke; "but, for my 
 part, I expect to do much more listening 
 than talking." 
 
 " Where shall I begin? " she asked. 
 
 " You have told me something about your 
 married life," he hinted. 
 
 " Oh, yes ; and I shall tell you more. My 
 husband loved me in his own way, which 
 was not the way a woman loves to be loved ! 
 It is because of that very fact that I can talk 
 about these things so impersonally. That 
 kind of love the love given by a man de- 
 voted almost exclusively to business: per- 
 haps it would be unfair to say that it is not 
 love, but certainly it is not to be identified 
 with that mingling of souls which alone can 
 satisfy the need of a woman's nature. It is 
 an impersonal thing. The woman who gets 
 that, and nothing more, from her husband, 
 may be comfortable, but she cannot be 
 na PP v - She has a husband, a protector, a 
 provider, but not a mate. Such a husband 
 is only a substitute for the missing half of 
 her being." 
 
 " She may find the other half, later, in 
 another man," said Clarke ; " she may reap 
 happiness in a field of tragedy. We lawyers 
 see so much of that! But " 
 59
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 " I was getting into generalities, and away 
 from my own particular story. Well: It 
 was all business, business, business, with Mr. 
 Willoughby. Life was trademarked and 
 dollarmarked, and gauged by percentages 
 a thing of principal and interest, markets 
 and materials. That might well enough 
 have been his occupation part of the time, 
 possibly even the greater part; but the re- 
 maining part should have been mine! I 
 would not have interfered with the business. 
 It would have made me happy to help in it, 
 in however insignificant a way just to 
 share in the worries and to rejoice in the 
 successes. 
 
 "I mean to be perfectly fair," she said, 
 " and not give a wrong impression. It is not 
 easy, and you must first of all be sure that 
 you understand perfectly that Mr. Wil- 
 loughby was never for a moment intention- 
 ally unkind to me. He was very proud of 
 what he called my beauty, of my social suc- 
 cesses, of my music, my public appearances; 
 but it always seemed to me a pride in prop- 
 erty. I am not one of your ' clinging vine ' 
 women; but, like any other normal woman, 
 I did, and do, want sympathy understand- 
 ing true companionship; and these things 
 60
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 were not mine. There is the fact, without 
 coloring." 
 
 ' You have reported it wonderfully well," 
 said Clarke; "and good reporting is more 
 rare than artistic interpretation." 
 
 He watched, meditatively, the thin column 
 of smoke that rose straight from the tip of 
 his cigar, then broke and spiralled with the 
 slight movement of the air. Then he said : 
 
 "Our New England Longfellow who 
 may perhaps, as they say, survive only in 
 the provinces, but who seems to me to have 
 combined a remarkable measure of sheer 
 human feeling with his Maine character and 
 his Cambridge culture says, of woman, in 
 the Indian epic: 
 
 "As unto the bow the cord is, 
 So unto the man is woman: 
 Though she bends him, she obeys him; 
 Though she draws him, yet she follows 
 Useless each without the other.' 
 
 "Elementary, perhaps but rather satis- 
 factory, I should say, as an accommodation 
 of the two views : the characteristically mas- 
 culine and the characteristically feminine. 
 But that is quite in the abstract, and we 
 61
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 need to be concrete in our consideration of 
 things just now." 
 
 "Yes, Mr. Lawyer," Mrs. Willoughby 
 said, smiling. " And I should like to know 
 who is sidetracking the story, now! " 
 
 "Mea culpa, mea culpa! Please forgive 
 me; I promise to do better from 1 now on! " 
 
 "Well; we were speaking of my social 
 successes, as the queer people who write the 
 ' society column ' would say. Can't you see 
 what effect those successes would have on 
 the other Willoughbys ? They were j ealous, 
 they envied me really ! And, oh, the nar- 
 rowness of that community! Every breeze 
 that blew carried gossip, and sometimes even 
 scandal. It was like what someone said of 
 Christiania. Who was it? Well never 
 mind; I have forgotten the authorship, but 
 the sentences persist in memory ; they meant 
 so much to one situated as I was. They run 
 this way: 'Oh great and little City! You 
 are great enough with your thousand beaks 
 to peck out the eyes of your hapless victim. 
 You are not great enough to afford a place 
 in which he may hide himself! ' " 
 
 ' That 's clever ! " Clarke exclaimed, " but 
 is it just? Does the criticism apply to the 
 whole urban middle West? " 
 62
 
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 "One would, of course," she said, judi- 
 cially, " make some exceptions. I have often 
 thought about it, because I have been so 
 much in contact with it. And this, it seems 
 to me, is the explanation I am always 
 looking for explanations; I want, like 
 Budge, or was it Toddy, to see the wheels 
 go round: the illiberal views which the set- 
 tlers of the Western Reserve, as they called 
 it, brought from New England, sir! 
 spread from Ohio to the Rockies. You have 
 outgrown them, here in the East; but out 
 there they persist, and are quite as marked 
 as they ever were on the Atlantic coast." 
 
 She warmed to the subject. She had 
 known the sting of this illiberality and 
 the burned child, if he be a child of spirit, 
 not only dreads but hates the fire. She ran 
 on: 
 
 "No theatres of any standing no high 
 class opera no hotels or restaurants where 
 a gentleman can take a lady to dine alone 
 without incurring the penalty of comment." 
 
 " Thou shalt not smoke in the same room 
 where thou dost eat," Clarke interposed, 
 blowing, with huge relish, a great cloud of 
 the aromatic fumes of Vuelta Aba jo. He 
 was enjoying life. 
 
 63 

 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 " You shall not bring me down from the 
 clouds! I mean to soar and I assure you, 
 it is the wings of truth that sustain me! 
 Church sociables for the frivolous thus 
 far, and no farther! Prayer meeting at- 
 tendance is the measure of merit in conduct. 
 To be seen talking to a man on the street 
 is to be engaged to him or, not to be en- 
 gaged, and to be ' compromised.' What is 
 the result? Driven to desperation the nou- 
 veaux riches indulge in quiet little times of 
 their own, while, perishing of ennui, the 
 young women scatter to the palaces of 
 pleasure in more naively 'human' regions. 
 You see them you see a great deal of 
 them! at Palm Beach in the winter, at 
 Newport or Narragansett Pier in the sum- 
 mer; in New York for the Horse Show and 
 Grand Opera; and in Europe. They are 
 the people who in the ' Tourist Season ' 
 travel 'in pairs' all over amazed and 
 amused Europe, where they gain a repu- 
 tation as 'good sports' and incidentally 
 pass as typical Americans." 
 
 Although Clarke had listened to this ar- 
 raignment with keen interest, he showed by 
 his manner that he did not endorse it in all 
 its details. 
 
 64
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 " It does sound pretty savage, no doubt," 
 she said, quietly, noting his attitude, "but 
 it is true I assure you it is. Perhaps it 
 isn't just what a woman ought to say, no 
 matter how true it is; but it has all played 
 a very large, and a very unhappy, part in 
 my life." 
 
 Clarke answered thoughtfully: 
 
 " It must have been bitter for you. It is 
 remarkable that you have come out of it all 
 unscathed." 
 
 "In a sense, I have not. These things 
 were all so unpleasant to me that I with- 
 drew more and more from the social com- 
 panionship I craved, and became something 
 of a recluse. And that was, mentally, most 
 unhealthy. And it was hard to keep the 
 children from being affected by it all. I had 
 to fight for them ! " 
 
 'Yes, I can imagine it; and I can see 
 now, much more clearly than before, how 
 pleasant the peaceful retirement in Canada 
 must have been to you." 
 
 For a few moments they were silent, each 
 thinking things that did not fall easily from 
 the lips. Mrs. Willoughby was the first to 
 speak. 
 
 " Now," she said, " let us get back to my 
 65
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 own story, which I wish you to know in 
 every detail. 
 
 " The story comes now to the ' villain,' 
 without whom no story is complete. 
 
 "John Sharp was Father Willoughby's 
 confidential adviser. He presented himself 
 as a graduate of an Eastern university, and 
 made a great display of his legal training 
 and knowledge which I always thought 
 was more the work of his own very efficient 
 imagination than of official diplomas or 
 actual practice. But he was clever, terribly 
 clever; and somehow he had managed to 
 worm himself -into Old Man Willoughby's 
 confidence. That was Father Willoughby's 
 name among the people of our own and 
 several other States," she explained. 
 
 "John Sharp had been at the Works 
 nearly twenty-five years. He knew all the 
 patent and trade secrets of the business, and 
 the knowledge gave him a most dangerous 
 power, which he well knew how to use to his 
 own selfish advantage. Oh, he is a danger- 
 ous man ! And the more dangerous, because 
 he wears with such artless grace the mantle 
 of his respectability. 
 
 "He had Father Willoughby's unquali- 
 fied confidence. The old gentleman trusted 
 66
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 him implicitly and, I think, feared him a 
 good deal, too. When I entered the life of 
 the Willoughby family, this man Sharp was 
 strongly intrenched. He was the go-be- 
 tween in Father Willoughby's dealings, 
 whether with the family or with the army of 
 employees at the Works. He was a dark, 
 silent, uncommunicative man." 
 
 "A deacon in the church, I suppose," 
 Clarke suggested. 
 
 " Well, yes that is about the way a man 
 would express it. And now, the next step. 
 When Father Willoughby died, he left his 
 whole fortune, unconditionally, to Mother 
 Willoughby; and he made John Sharp 
 executor of the will." 
 
 " That was a hard blow to Sharp ! " Clarke 
 commented facetiously. 
 
 ' You see," Mrs. Willoughby continued, 
 "he is still after that fortune. The stakes 
 are high, and I believe he will play a des- 
 perate game anything to win. 
 
 "When the family rebels, he reminds 
 them that if the Government knew one-half 
 of the violations of law that the Company 
 has been guilty of, there would be no Wil- 
 loughby millions to worry about. And, he 
 tells them, sometimes with unctuous virtue 
 67
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 and sometimes with malice for he varies 
 between those two characters that he 
 knows, not one-half the story, but all! So 
 he has tamed their proud spirits, and holds 
 them, as the saying goes, in the hollow of his 
 hand. And it is a hand that is ready, when 
 the right moment comes, to close upon them 
 with a deadly grip, or to clench itself fistwise 
 and strike a cruel blow." 
 
 "I suppose," said Clarke thoughtfully, 
 " the first step in such a man's scheme would 
 be to develop, and, when the time comes, to 
 exercise an undue influence over the old 
 lady's over Mrs. Willoughby's mind." 
 
 ' Yes you have hit it exactly! He has 
 a terrible power over her. Any appeal made 
 to her by a member of the family is referred 
 to ' John/ as she always calls him. They all 
 hate him and they all fear him." 
 
 " Again, if I may hazard a supposition 
 as a lawyer," said Clarke, "such a man 
 would not have refrained from trying to 
 gain, and exert, an influence over you, the 
 mother of old Mrs. Willoughby's grand- 
 children." 
 
 ' You have gone straight to the heart of 
 the story the part I have been leading up 
 to, and dreading to arrive at. But your 
 68
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 perfect understanding makes it much easier 
 to tell and I want you to know the facts 
 just as I know them. Here they are: 
 
 "After my husband's death John Sharp 
 began to visit my house frequently always 
 making a pretence of some business matter 
 to be discussed. This was unpleasant; but 
 what made me hate and fear him was his 
 pretended fondness for Ernest and Alice. 
 When that sort of a man tries to be nice to 
 children, he needs watching! No such feel- 
 ing can be honest with him. Trust a mother 
 to know who her children's friends are!" 
 
 What a wonderful voice she had! With- 
 out altering her telling of the story in the 
 slightest detail that would have been appar- 
 ent to an uninvolved listener, she made it 
 perfectly plain to Clarke, by the inflection 
 of her rich tones, that she well knew that he 
 was the true friend of her two children. He 
 welcomed the tribute, as just as it was gener- 
 ous. She continued : 
 
 " He began by pretending affection for 
 the children. He ended by proposing 
 marriage to me! He intimated that the 
 children's interest in their grandfather's 
 millions was involved. I refused him, of 
 course! as graciously as I could, for I 
 69
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 really fear the man, and do not care to 
 antagonize him a bit more than I can help, 
 while preserving self-respect. He went 
 away actually threatening us." 
 
 She paused. The strain was great. She 
 resumed: 
 
 "After that he became more constant 
 than ever in his attentions to Mother Wil- 
 loughby. I believe he would have tried to 
 marry her, old as she was but even he did 
 not quite dare go so far as that! 
 
 " One day Mother Willoughby dropped 
 a bombshell in the midst of a family council 
 by calmly announcing Lucy's engagement 
 to him." 
 
 "Lucy?" 
 
 "Oh! Haven't I mentioned her? She 
 was the * queer' one of the family. She 
 kept very close to her mother; seemed lost 
 without her. Whatever her mother said, 
 Lucy did as instinctively as if it had been 
 the prompting of her own mind that urged 
 her. 
 
 " She has no will of her own. Her en- 
 gagement it was a cruel thing; I do not 
 see how her mother can ever be forgiven for 
 encouraging it. She must have known that 
 she was doing an unmotherly thing. 
 70
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 " So John Sharp was assured of a goodly 
 share in the Willoughby millions, when they 
 should come to be distributed. 
 
 " It was the talk of the town. My 
 brothers-in-law even plucked up courage 
 enough to go to their mother about it, but 
 she would give them no satisfaction. I think 
 she was maliciously happy at having them 
 give her the opportunity to do it so officially. 
 
 " Well, John Sharp married Lucy poor 
 girl! and after the wedding, whenever 
 there was no one to notice it, he leered at me, 
 triumphantly. Now Mother Willoughby is 
 lavishing her money on them on her poor, 
 simple-minded daughter, and her decidedly 
 not simple-minded new son-in-law. 
 
 "Oh, money, money," she cried, "what 
 a trail of wickedness and suffering and sor- 
 row it leaves ! " 
 
 Then, more quietly, she brought the story 
 to its finish. 
 
 ' You see how I have had to fight for my 
 children. But there is one more point a 
 most important one for us: Mother Wil- 
 loughby could never agree to my marrying 
 again. The mere suggestion would wound 
 her in the one tender spot of her nature. 
 You see, I have been the wife of her best 
 71
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 loved son, her Joseph. He was most like 
 his father, and she loved him most. For 
 anyone who had been her son's wife to love 
 another man to marry another man 
 would be, to her, a sacrilege, an iniquity ; the 
 betrayal of a sacred bond. 
 
 "And then, there is my dear Ernest. 
 Do you know, young as he is, he has actually 
 told me, in so many words, that he is never 
 going to marry he wishes to love no 
 woman but me. And don't you see the 
 natural corollary? He thinks that as my 
 love satisfies him, so his should be enough 
 for me. Of course, he does n't understand ; 
 how could he? But there is the fact; and 
 Chester dear, you will see how necessary it 
 is for us to be patient, and wait. And," 
 she added, wearily, " in any case I must talk 
 to my father about it." 
 
 She had borne the strain bravely, but 
 even her fine fibre had been overtaxed. Now 
 she sat very still. 
 
 Clarke arose and, standing beside her, 
 stroked her hair gently, as he said: 
 
 " It has been hard for you, but there is a 
 way out, and we shall find it. Don't you 
 know," he said pleadingly, " Love conquers 
 all things?" 
 
 72
 
 CHAPTER VH 
 
 MRS. Willoughby spent three days 
 more in Boston, and on the morning 
 of each day Clarke called at her apartment 
 and they arranged a programme for the 
 afternoon and evening. This was a par- 
 ticularly happy period in their history. She 
 lunched with him once at Young's, where the 
 rock of old conservatism refuses to be dis- 
 lodged by the insistent tide of modern in- 
 novation. One afternoon they drove through 
 Boston's lovely and historic suburbs, and 
 they spent an evening at the theatre. But 
 the happiest hours were those they passed 
 quietly alone in the evening. 
 
 There was so much to be said, and the 
 apartment savored so much of a home. They 
 talked books: Clarke had not neglected to 
 make the rooms more homelike with the 
 cheery presence of some of the most cher- 
 ished volumes of his own library. 
 
 Among these were some of Kipling's 
 books, with the author's autograph; Clarke 
 had met him at a banquet where the English- 
 73
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 man, bored to death, had gone off into a 
 corner with him, the one man present who 
 could talk of guns and game, tell a good 
 story of his own, and listen, with apprecia- 
 tion properly placed, to another fellow's. 
 Clarke read to Mrs. Willoughby the " Re- 
 cessional." 
 
 " There," said he, after a moment's silence 
 when the last full tones of his sympathetic 
 rendering had ceased to vibrate, " there is a 
 poem with more of beauty than a whole 
 volume of modern lackadaisical lyrics 
 more strength than a hundred ' free verse ' 
 smiths can hammer out on a hundred iron 
 anvils more real man's religion than there 
 is in a four hundred page hymn book." 
 
 " What a contrast," said Mrs. Willoughby, 
 "to 'The Battle Hymn of the Republic/ 
 Why do we Americans insist on setting our 
 emotions to lilting measures?" 
 
 " We are growing in grace," said Clarke. 
 " I think it is a perception of the defect, and 
 an honest desire to do better, that has led 
 our later verse writers away from the old, 
 jingly forms. In crude reaction, they swing 
 too far, and accept grotesqueries as evidence 
 of strength, uncharted wanderings in chaos 
 as proof of superiority to conventional rules. 
 74
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 It is the excess of revolution. There will be 
 a counter-revolution. The radicals will pass, 
 unmourned. With moderated reaction, the 
 pendulum will at last come to a halt at the 
 mid-dial mark, and we shall have advanced 
 by so much. We shall retain the beauties of 
 form, the difficult simplicity of that perfect 
 art which improves upon nature by con- 
 centrating upon nature's best. We shall 
 be masters, not slaves, of rhyme and rhythm. 
 We shall perceive that we have been rebel- 
 ling against form, when our actual error 
 was a neglect of substance; and we shall 
 produce a literature as great and noble in 
 its simple strength and dignity, adorned 
 with the graces of chastening art, as this 
 mighty nation must surely be destined to 
 place before the world." 
 
 " I think," she said, " we may produce a 
 Shakespeare but it will be long before we 
 have a Shaw." 
 
 'Yes; really clever cynicism, I think, 
 comes only with the passing of the peak of 
 a nation's years." 
 
 Then the talk drifted into other channels. 
 
 They compared notes on their travels. Both 
 
 had seen the Passion Play at Oberammergau 
 
 in the same month perhaps they had been 
 
 75
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 present at the same performance! Both 
 had watched for sunrise on the Rigi. They 
 had attended the Paris Exposition, and had 
 sat under the spell of the wonderful acting 
 of Coquelin in " Cyrano." 
 
 " I wonder," Mrs. Willoughby once said, 
 " if we have never met in the course of these 
 comings and goings. Do you suppose we 
 can have been, sometime, somewhere, sitting 
 side by side in an audience, or walking, al- 
 most together, through a street in London, 
 or Paris, or Vienna? " 
 
 " Like ships that pass in the night? Who 
 knows ? ' ' And then : 
 
 " No," he said, emphatically, " I do not 
 believe it. We live in a small world, and it 
 is no miracle if two travellers through it 
 cross each other's path a dozen times. But 
 for us, I believe it impossible. My belief 
 in our kinship, mental and spiritual, is 
 such so clearly defined and substantially 
 formed that I cannot think it possible for 
 us to have been near one another, without 
 knowing it. When I saw you at the dinner, 
 so few weeks ago! I knew at once that 
 you were you, the rest of me! And if I had 
 seen you three years, five years, ten years 
 sooner, do you not think the same knowledge 
 76
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY] 
 
 would have dawned upon me, just as spon- 
 taneously? No, my dear we never were 
 within close contact of each other. And that 
 is stranger than if we had met; so surely, 
 so irrevocably, were we meant for one 
 another." 
 
 Whether she believed that or not, she cer- 
 tainly enjoyed hearing him say it. Possibly 
 with serious intent and, possibly, intend- 
 ing to tease him a little, she said : 
 
 "You know, I lived in Boston two seasons. 
 That was some years ago, when I was a girl, 
 and you a very young man. Do you not 
 think you may have passed me in the street 
 a tall, slender girl, carrying a violin? 
 Do you really think you would have fallen 
 in love with me so so impetuously, then? 
 You may have been the same man you are 
 now, but I really, I was a very different 
 person in those days ! " 
 
 Clarke tried to see this woman of thirty- 
 five, in the full maturity of her beauty, as 
 she must have looked at seventeen. He 
 failed ; no image would form upon the screen 
 of his imagination. There is no place in my 
 heart, he told himself, for any other. 
 
 He loved her heart, soul, mind and 
 body- as the whole beautiful harmony of 
 77
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 her being had been formed and matured by 
 the years. He was positive that they had 
 met as it had been ordained from the be- 
 ginning of time that they should meet, in 
 time's fulness. 
 
 78
 
 CHAPTER YE! 
 
 SEVENTY-TWO hours: how swiftly 
 they pass, when Love is watching the 
 clock! The third day came and went, and 
 in the evening of it Mrs. Willoughby started 
 on her journey. Clarke saw her comfort- 
 ably established in the train, received her 
 final earnest assurance that he should hear 
 from her as soon as she had consulted her 
 father, and then went back to his rooms 
 to wait. 
 
 His patience was not put to too long a 
 test, for there came, even sooner than he 
 could have expected, a letter in which she 
 said: 
 
 " MY DEAR LOVE : 
 
 "My journey home was without inci- 
 dent. The time passed swiftly, for the 
 hours were filled with such delightful mem- 
 ories of the past three days in Boston. Your 
 tenderness and your love have won me. I 
 know that you will always understand me 
 perfectly; I shall never have to explain to 
 you and I have been at times so cruelly 
 79
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 misunderstood! I told my father, and he 
 will be glad, indeed he is anxious, to see 
 you. Come at once, and let us know when 
 you will arrive. 
 
 " With my heart's best love, 
 
 "LouiSE." 
 
 Clarke read, and exultantly re-read, this 
 letter. He telephoned for information, and 
 found that he could catch a train that would 
 get him to Topeka the third night out, at 
 eight o'clock. Packing hastily, he hurried 
 to the station, and had just time to send a 
 telegram announcing the probable time of 
 his arrival. He added two happy words: 
 "Adastra." 
 
 On the train, he looked over his fellow 
 passengers, and wondered upon what er- 
 rands they were bound. They all seemed 
 so composed so matter-of-fact; their pur- 
 pose must be hopelessly prosaic and com- 
 monplace, compared with his; who at jour- 
 ney's end would learn whether he was, or 
 was not, to marry the most desirable woman 
 in the world. 
 
 His own worthiness for so great a boon, 
 his own fitness for such a responsibility 
 would, of course, be searchingly investi- 
 80
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 gated. It was pleasant to be so confident 
 of the outcome. He need not shun the issue, 
 or avoid the test ; he could afford to invite it, 
 to challenge it. 
 
 The seventeenth century was young when 
 the first Clarke landed in Boston. He had 
 left England, with a price on his head be- 
 cause he had ventured to incur the very 
 human displeasure of a very royal Highness. 
 There was Huguenot blood on his mother's 
 side, and the strain had blended in the years 
 with the Puritan. 
 
 His great grandfather had served under 
 Lafayette, and his father under Sherman. 
 He himself had won an honorable position 
 at the bar. He had gained a considerable 
 local reputation as a speaker. His con- 
 science was clear, his honor unstained: no, 
 he need not dread the inquest! 
 
 It is doubtful whether Clarke had ever 
 before made such an inventory of his own 
 qualifications. Why should he? His stand- 
 ing in respect of all the terms of eligibility 
 for son-in-lawship had always been one of 
 the things that are taken for granted. 
 
 His nature was deeply religious. He stood 
 solidly for the Church as an institution; be- 
 lieving that Protestant New England was 
 
 81
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 fast becoming pagan, since not one half of 
 the descendants of the Puritans and Pil- 
 grims ever set foot inside of a church door, 
 in one of his public addresses he had as- 
 serted with emphasis that its decline and fall 
 would be attended, inevitably, by the de- 
 cline and fall of the Republic. In some 
 measure he sought to cultivate his spiritual 
 being. He believed it better for a man to 
 build his life upon a religion, however 
 archaic or irrational, than to lack the foun- 
 dation of faith-formula. One of his favorite 
 quotations was: 
 
 "First God made man, then straightway 
 
 man made God. 
 
 What wonder if the tang of that same sod 
 From whence we issued with a breath 
 
 should cling 
 
 To all we fashion? We can only plod, 
 Led by a starveling candle, and we sing 
 Of what we can remember of the road." 
 
 No word that Chester Clarke uttered 
 could be rightly understood, no act which 
 he performed could be correctly judged, 
 without reference to the Puritan part of his 
 antecedents. The New England conscience 
 of his paternal ancestors had been graced 
 82
 
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 but not weakened by the inheritance of an- 
 other character from his mother's Gallic 
 forebears. The Huguenot influence shone 
 out in his mental processes ; the Puritan fac- 
 tor was apparent in his deep, instinctive 
 sense of moral responsibility that it was 
 instinctive is the important fact. Rochelle 
 might make him, in an hour of suffering, 
 more acutely conscious of every pang; Bos- 
 ton would compel him to suffer in silence, 
 hide his hurt, and go his way without any 
 manifestation of memory for yesterday's 
 heavy strokes of misfortune. The democ- 
 racy of the Puritan recognized a degree of 
 special dependence upon its men of brains, 
 character, learning and position; and it re- 
 quired of them a specially stoic subordina- 
 tion of personal interests to the duty of man 
 as a member of the community. Where the 
 Huguenot might assume the right to end a 
 life blasted by disappointment, the Puritan 
 would not consider the life his to take but 
 only his to live out to the appointed end. 
 Probably the two men would be equal in 
 courage; the difference would be a matter 
 of conscience. 
 
 And so, as one who had lived up to the 
 best New England traditions, Clarke sped 
 
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 across the country, with a glad heart and 
 high hopes, to conquer the waiting West. 
 
 When at last the train crossed the Mis- 
 souri River and entered the State of Kan- 
 sas, Clarke recalled the lines of Whittier, 
 sung by the stout-hearted pioneers as they 
 migrated in the " Fifties " to hold the Terri- 
 tory and its resources for the common weal : 
 
 " We go to rear a wall of men 
 On Freedom's Southern line, 
 And plant beside the cotton-tree 
 The rugged Northern pine! 
 
 " Uprearing like the Ark of old 
 The Bible in our van, 
 We go to test the truth of God 
 Against the fraud of man." 
 
 And this was the country where the woman 
 he was hastening to meet had spent the 
 greater part of her life: a country strange, 
 but now dear, to him. With keen pleasure he 
 scrutinized the landscape. Here and there 
 a patch of sandy desert, not yet conquered ; 
 then endless expanse of broad prairie land, 
 rich in the beauty of purple iris and ver- 
 bena; green oceans of corn and grain billow- 
 ing away to the far horizon; plantations of 
 84
 
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 fruit trees and vines, full of luscious prom- 
 ise. A land of plenty, a smiling land; and 
 everywhere, the visible evidence of the genius 
 and thrift of a virile and progressive race. 
 
 The train pulled into Topeka three hours 
 behind time. It was nearly eleven o'clock 
 when Clarke descended from his car. There 
 would be no one but a servant to meet him, 
 he supposed, at this late hour. 
 
 But he was wrong, for Mrs. Willoughby 
 and Ernest were waiting on the platform. 
 He hurried to meet them, and would have 
 offered his most demonstrative greeting; but 
 Mrs. Willoughby forestalled him. 
 
 " Oh," she exclaimed, " here is our travel- 
 ler! We are so glad to see you, Mr. Clarke. 
 We were about to give you up, when we 
 learned that the train would surely arrive 
 within another twenty minutes. And we 
 Topekans have never been accused of not 
 being hospitable to the stranger that is 
 within our gates." 
 
 She spoke with no more and no less 
 warmth than one puts into the words of 
 welcome to the ordinary guest; and Clarke 
 had regarded himself as so very special a 
 visitor! When she turned to the boy and 
 said: "Ernest, you remember Mr. Clarke, 
 85
 
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 of course?" Clarke felt a pang of some- 
 thing resembling resentment ; but it immedi- 
 ately occurred to him that this mingling of 
 cordiality with formality was caused by the 
 presence of the boy, who was still evidently 
 unaware of their relations and whose recon- 
 ciliation to the installation of a stepfather 
 was still unachieved. Taking the cue, he 
 replied in the conventional manner of a 
 traveller well pleased at reaching his des- 
 tination. 
 
 The other members of the family had re- 
 tired, and Mrs. Willoughby and Ernest sat 
 with him while he ate the luncheon provided 
 for his refreshment. There was a little 
 colorless talk about his journey and about 
 Topeka; Clarke wondered that Mrs. Wil- 
 loughby did not find a way to get rid of the 
 boy. Then, despairing of any opportunity 
 to say the things he could not wait to say, 
 he announced his readiness to retire. Ernest 
 showed him to his room. 
 
 Clarke was puzzled and hurt. As he un- 
 dressed, he wondered: Could she possibly 
 fail to realize how his suppressed feelings 
 were straining for expression? Could she 
 not understand his longing to clasp her in 
 his arms ? She must, surely, be aware of his 
 86
 
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 anxiety to hear how her father stood; but 
 she had given no sign of concern. 
 
 With a keen sense of disappointment he 
 retired. Sleep came to him that night halt- 
 ingly. His mind grappled with a problem 
 it could not solve; could hardly even state. 
 Fifteen or twenty minutes passed; a clock 
 outside in the hall struck midnight. The 
 house was dark and still; drowsiness came 
 over him. 
 
 Then, as if in a dream, he was aware of 
 a dim light in the room. His door had noise- 
 lessly opened and shut. A figure all in 
 white, and carrying a shaded night lamp, 
 stood a moment as if listening, then moved 
 softly across the room to his bedside. 
 
 Kneeling there, she said, in a whisper: 
 
 " I could not let the night come between 
 us until I had spoken to you, dear just 
 a word, out of my heart." 
 
 " My love, my own love! " was all he said. 
 But as he drew her into his arms, and she 
 rested there, happy and content, they had no 
 need of words. 
 
 At length, whispering "Now you must 
 let me go," she gave him one last kiss the 
 door opened and shut, swiftly and silently, 
 and she was gone. 
 
 87
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 next morning, Clarke awoke re- 
 A freshed and eager to launch upon the 
 new phase of his Great Adventure. He 
 went out for an early stroll, had walked back 
 to the house, and was mounting the front 
 steps when a tall, elderly gentleman, some- 
 what portly of figure, came out. 
 
 Extending his hand, with an air of com- 
 bined cordiality and deference, he said : " I 
 am glad to see you, Mr. Clarke. Sorry not 
 to have felt able to sit up and receive you 
 last night. Doubtlessly, my daughter ex- 
 plained. It 's Mr. Malsby. I am glad, and 
 proud, to welcome you here." 
 
 As their hands clasped in hearty greeting, 
 each man looked squarely into the eyes of 
 the other. 
 
 " Take a seat, Mr. Clarke," Malsby said. 
 " The ladies have not come down yet." 
 
 Clarke liked the looks of this man, the 
 
 father of the woman he loved. The deep 
 
 wrinkles in his forehead, the bulge of the 
 
 heavy shoulders, the powerful structure of 
 
 88
 
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 his hands, all bespoke the man of many 
 battles. The rugged frame showed, slightly 
 but plainly, signs of the wear and tear of 
 hard work. Strength and character were 
 the suggestion given by his appearance. 
 
 ' You are from Boston, Mr. Clarke," he 
 said, to establish a point of departure for 
 their conversation. " Boston is a grand old 
 city! I have been there several times, and 
 the more I see of it the better I like it 
 even to the famous baked beans." 
 
 He chuckled. 
 
 'Yes, Boston is a good town," said 
 Clarke. "It has its peculiarities, however. 
 They say, you know, that any casual gather- 
 ing of three or four Bostonians resembles a 
 session of the Concord School of Philosophy, 
 and we are supposed to be constantly seek- 
 ing to hear of some new thing. All the 
 'isms,' according to common report, origi- 
 nate in the Hub." 
 
 " That does seem to be the fact," Mr. 
 Malsby remarked, after half a moment's 
 reflection. Then, pausing the other half of 
 the moment, he said: . 
 
 "But I don't just see how you make it 
 line up with your conservatism. I always 
 think of Boston as our most conservative 
 89
 
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 city. For my part, I like the way you stick 
 to your old customs. No outlander seems 
 ever to break through, or climb over, your 
 Chinese Wall." 
 
 "Boston has changed, in some respects, 
 with the changing times," replied Clarke. 
 "New people come, and bring new ways. 
 But the inner citadel still resists every 
 assault." 
 
 " As long as there is any Boston at all," 
 said Mr. Malsby, "old Boston will be the 
 Boston the rest of the country knows and 
 respects." He spoke with conviction. 
 
 " I suppose our conservatism is the natural 
 continuation of our English inheritance," 
 said Clarke. " Our institutions, you see, 
 were well established 'in good old Colony 
 times, when we lived under the King.' ' 
 
 " Well," said the older man, " I '11 tell you 
 this: as a Westerner and there's a good 
 many more like me! I 'd bank, every time, 
 on a real Bostonian. I Ve met a lot of 'em, 
 in business, first and last! And why would 
 I bank on him? I '11 tell you, sir: his credit 
 is solid, because his conservatism keeps him 
 out of trouble. He works hard, and he's 
 thrifty. He never gets drunk, and he never 
 visits a den of iniquity. I don't recall ever 
 90
 
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 hearing of a Boston wife-beater! He's in 
 on every work of charity and benevolence; 
 seems trained that way from the cradle, and 
 the best thing about you fellows is the way 
 you face the ' chores ' of life. I 've always 
 found a Boston man a good friend, once I Ve 
 got to know him." 
 
 The reservation was made with just a 
 show of whimsicality. 
 
 'You are truly generous with your 
 praise," said Clarke, "and I trust we de- 
 serve the high compliment. I have always 
 supposed the rest of the country regarded 
 us as rather narrow and self-satisfied. I 
 once heard a countryman say of the Boston 
 man that three of him could sit on a buggy 
 seat. We are accused of being intellectuals ; 
 of lacking the spirit of adventure, and so 
 missing much of the variety and spice of 
 life." 
 
 The quoted criticism seemed to rouse the 
 old man's fighting spirit. He took up arms 
 in defence of the maligned city. 
 
 " I 'm telling you what I think," he said; 
 " and I don't get my ideas from anyone else! 
 Your monuments reflect your character. 
 I always stand with my hat off when I 
 read the inscription on your Public Library, 
 91
 
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 ' The Commonwealth requires the education 
 of her citizens as the safeguard to order and 
 liberty,' or that other one on your Soldiers' 
 Monument: 
 
 " c To the men of Boston 
 Who died for their Country 
 
 On land and sea 
 In the war that made the Union whole 
 
 Destroyed slavery 
 And preserved the Constitution.' 
 
 "You see I have committed these words 
 to memory. Then there's the Shaw Me- 
 morial, as it's called, on the Common op- 
 posite the State House, about dying for 
 noble ends. 
 
 " We have few monuments out here ; we 
 have none with such noble and nobly worded 
 sentiments on them. If this country ever 
 goes to war again, in some great and right- 
 eous cause, the young men of New England 
 ought to be the first to rise after seeing 
 words like those every day of their lives! " 
 
 After a moment of silence, Clarke asked : 
 
 "Have you had extensive business con- 
 nections in Boston?" 
 
 ' Well, yes I Ve done a goodish amount 
 of trading in Boston." 
 92
 
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 A softer look took possession of his strong 
 old face, as he added: 
 
 "And I placed my daughter in school 
 there. I was bound that she should have 
 the best musical education that America 
 could give her, so I took her to Boston and 
 placed her at the New England Conserva- 
 tory of Music." 
 
 In the parental pride which he made no 
 attempt to conceal, Clarke saw the opening 
 for which he had been waiting. 
 
 "Now, Mr. Malsby," he said, "I came 
 here to speak with you about your daughter 
 I am in love with her, deeply in love, 
 and I am here to ask your consent to our 
 marriage." 
 
 The older man evidently was pleased by 
 the younger man's straightforward presenta- 
 tion of his suit. He answered in the same 
 spirit and manner: 
 
 "My daughter has spoken to me. It 
 would be hard for me to refuse her any- 
 thing so I'm pretty strongly on your 
 side at the start-out. Besides, I should like 
 to see her happily married before my own 
 time comes and it's getting near enough 
 now to have to be figured on." 
 
 He paused, reflectively. 
 93
 
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 "You certainly do not look like an in- 
 valid," was Clarke's comment. 
 
 " Well, anyway, there 's the fact that my 
 girl is the kind that's better off married 
 than single. I am very much honored by 
 your interest in her, and I '11 do all I can 
 to help you. And you may need some help. 
 There are certain obstacles. Her affairs 
 and those of the children are in a pretty 
 uncertain condition right now, and " 
 
 He stopped short. 
 
 " The ladies are coming," he said. " We '11 
 talk it over, later in the day." 
 
 They rose to greet Mrs. Willoughby and 
 Mrs. Malsby, who appeared at the door. 
 
 94
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 MRS. Malsby was a lady of medium 
 height, quite a little shorter than her 
 daughter. Her mien was, if not severe, at 
 least uncompromising, and she was dressed 
 in the stiffest of styles. A stage manager 
 engineering a play with Mrs. Willoughby 
 in the leading part would have found in 
 Mrs. Malsby the perfect foil for her daugh- 
 ter's loveliness. 
 
 As the party entered the breakfast room 
 Alice and Ernest came in, rosy from an 
 early walk. Ernest said: 
 
 " Did you have a good night, Mr. Clarke? 
 Everybody says our air out here makes them 
 sleep better than at home." 
 
 But Alice came up to him without a hint 
 of shyness and with the crystal clear honesty 
 of childhood put her warm, strong young 
 arms around him and gave him a hearty kiss. 
 
 Mrs. Malsby looked at her daughter. 
 Mrs. Willoughby was smiling. 
 
 "That child will never learn manners," 
 the grandmother said. "I do wish you 
 95
 
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 would teach her not to be so forward, 
 Louise!" 
 
 Clarke recalled Mrs. Willoughby's whis- 
 pered adjuration, "Do be nice to mother!" 
 He said: 
 
 " That was the very nicest thing that ever 
 happened to me, Mrs. Malsby. You are to 
 be congratulated on having so dear a little 
 lady for a granddaughter." 
 
 Mrs. Malsby replied quite unenthusiasti- 
 cally, and thereafter she spoke seldom and 
 briefly. Clarke could bring forward no 
 topic to which she would respond. He could 
 not think her hostile toward himself, but she 
 certainly preserved an unwavering neutral- 
 ity. Her natural reserve of manner, he felt 
 sure, was reenforced by a determination to 
 be noncommittal. The situation appealed 
 to his sense of humor: it suggested a very 
 prim lady walking a tightrope. 
 
 The visitor permitted himself, without 
 compunction, to analyze this family whose 
 hospitality he was enjoying. It was per- 
 fectly fair, for he himself had invited them 
 to analyze him! Let it, then, be give and 
 take ! He saw that the father and daughter 
 stood on one side of a sharply drawn line, 
 the mother on the other. While taking his 
 96
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 part in the small talk of the breakfast table, 
 he was Teconstructing in his mind the his- 
 tory of this family division. He could im- 
 agine a hundred ways in which, while 
 conscientiously endeavoring to mould her 
 daughter to her own views, Mrs. Malsby 
 had driven the child away from her cold 
 self and into the shelter of her father's never- 
 failing sympathy. He thought it would be 
 incorrect and unjust to suppose that Mrs. 
 Malsby loved her daughter less than Mr. 
 Malsby did; but she loved her in a con- 
 scientious, measured way, while his affections 
 found free expression in spontaneous re- 
 sponse to every appeal, verbal or tacit. 
 
 And, as was to be expected, the schism 
 extended to the new generation of Wil- 
 loughbys. Alice was more like her mother 
 and her grandfather; while Ernest drew 
 naturally to Mrs. Malsby. It was odd to 
 see so strikingly firm an attachment between 
 the severe grandmother and the boy. In 
 their reserved, undemonstrative way they 
 seemed to depend on each other for support 
 against the more impulse-ruled part of the 
 household group. 
 
 Throughout the meal the talk ran pleas- 
 antly in the rather desultory channels of 
 97
 
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 breakfast-table conversation; it was only 
 the merest undercurrent, that would prob- 
 ably have been imperceptible to a visitor 
 less intimately concerned with the significant 
 insignificances of the occasion, that enabled 
 Clarke to form these conclusions so posi- 
 tively. The meal finished, the children ran 
 off to feed their pets ; Mrs. Malsby excused 
 herself and Mrs. Wnloughby said, "I will 
 go with you, mother, so that father and Mr. 
 Clarke can enjoy their morning smoke with- 
 out interruption." 
 
 The two men settled themselves comfort- 
 ably in the snug little sanctum at a corner 
 of the house. A certain tensity of mind 
 was felt by each in himself, and was per- 
 ceived by each in the other. It was not the 
 strain of coming battle, for they had already 
 discovered a community of favorable dis- 
 position; but now they were to deal in de- 
 tail with a decision momentous for each. 
 Clarke felt that he stood on the near bank 
 of his Rubicon, and the hour of crossing 
 was at hand. Mr. Malsby opened the 
 conference. 
 
 "This is business, Mr. Clarke," he said, 
 " and there ''s just one way to talk business." 
 
 "Straight," said Clarke. 
 98
 
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 "Right! Well, then: I have a question 
 to ask you before we get down to details. 
 But it 's a question that needs an explanation. 
 
 "My wife is a woman of very decided 
 views and opinions. One of them in fact, 
 it 's really a hobby of hers is that people 
 of different religious beliefs cannot be happy 
 in marriage, and ought not to marry." 
 
 "A pretty strong combination of objec- 
 tions, Mr. Malsby! But I think we can 
 overcome it. For my part " 
 
 " No ; wait a minute. We must not switch 
 off. Let me show you how this works, from 
 Mrs. Malsby 's side. Then we can take it 
 up from ours." 
 
 " The opposing forces are drawn up in 
 battle order," Clarke thought. He said 
 nothing, however; only nodded to show that 
 he was ready. 
 
 " Now," said Malsby, " while my wife and 
 daughter are not in such close sympathy as 
 I would wish, it is merely the natural effect 
 of the marked differences in their natures. 
 Mrs. Malsby is a faithful mother, you may 
 be sure, and she has Louise's welfare con- 
 stantly at heart." 
 
 He seemed to forget that he was talking 
 to a comparative stranger, and spoke more 
 99
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 like a man musing for his own satisfaction 
 than one trying to reveal a situation without 
 reporting it in embarrassing detail. 
 
 " Louise is more like myself. She likes to 
 do things. She likes to have people like 
 what she does, and say so. She does what 
 she wants to do, and generally thinks it's 
 just about the right thing to do. 
 
 " Her mother does nothing without think- 
 ing about it. She is as severe with herself 
 as she is with others. She argues everything 
 out in her mind ; and when she once reaches 
 a conclusion, heaven nor hell can't shake it. 
 
 "Now, you see," bringing himself de- 
 finitely back to the situation in hand, " you 
 see how this applies to you and Louise. 
 Mrs. Malsby can't realize that Louise is old 
 enough to have a mind of her own, and can't 
 be ordered about like a child. I get a lot 
 more out of her, and influence her a lot more, 
 by pulling with her and not against her. 
 Sometimes I play the deep game, and go 
 through the motions of pulling with her, 
 when in fact I'm working the other way. 
 But her mother often antagonizes her un- 
 necessarily, and makes a hard job of it for 
 herself where it ought to have been easy. 
 
 " So here 's the situation, in a nutshell ; 
 100
 
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 Mrs, Malsby is conscientious, but really de- 
 voted to Louise's welfare; Louise is dutiful 
 in intent, pretty much devoted to her own 
 welfare, and almost always at odds with her 
 mother's idea of what her welfare requires." 
 
 "And I should imagine," said Clarke, 
 " that each, in her own way, is blessed with 
 considerable will power." 
 
 "Right!" said Malsby; "and, by the 
 Lord, I 'm glad to see you understand the 
 situation so clearly, without doing any in- 
 justice to either party. It isn't every man, 
 Mr. Clarke, who can see both sides, and 
 give each its fair value. 
 
 "Well," he went on, "now we come to 
 the point. I 'm going to speak as plainly 
 as I know how! 
 
 "Mrs. Malsby, as I said, believes that 
 marriages between persons of different re- 
 ligions lead to unhappiness at home, and 
 possibly to a settlement in the divorce 
 court." 
 
 " But is it right to make religion the test 
 at all?" 
 
 "Never mind about that! You and I 
 
 may have our own ideas about it, and I 
 
 guess we 'd both put love so far first that 
 
 the other things wouldn't get a look in! 
 
 101
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 But that 's the man of it. Mrs. Malsby does 
 make this a consideration; one of the most 
 important, too and that's the fact we've 
 got to face. No use trying to dodge facts ! " 
 
 " It can't be done," said Clarke. 
 
 " That 's it ! Well Mrs. Malsby and I 
 are Presbyterians. Louise attended that 
 church as a child, but she has since joined 
 the Episcopalians. She likes the ceremonial ; 
 it answers the need of her nature, you know. 
 She is brighter than we are. Our service is 
 too gloomy for her." 
 
 He spoke half apologetically. 
 
 " A beautiful church service for a woman 
 whose mind and spirit are as lovely as hers," 
 said Clarke with quiet finality. 
 
 Mr. Malsby smiled his appreciation. 
 
 "Well I see I needn't do any more 
 explaining! Mrs. Malsby made me promise 
 to ask you about your religious beliefs be- 
 fore consenting to have you marry our 
 daughter. You are a Unitarian, are you 
 not? We don't know much about that re- 
 ligion. We're a little afraid of it, Mr. 
 Clarke as people are apt to be of things 
 they know nothing about. Now, please 
 tell me what the Unitarian belief is. 
 Mrs. Malsby," he concluded, with a half- 
 102
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 whimsical air, " she thinks it 's denying the 
 Saviour!" 
 
 A knock at the door interrupted them. 
 Mr. Malsby answered it. 
 
 " A gentleman to see you, sir," the maid 
 announced. " On business. He says it 's 
 very important." 
 
 Mr. Malsby turned to Clarke. 
 ' 'T was ever thus," he said, smiling 
 through an obvious vexation. "Will you 
 excuse me? I will come back as soon as I 
 can get clear, and we '11 have it out." 
 
 103
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 NOT until past mid-morning were the 
 two men able to resume their inter- 
 rupted conversation. Clarke was waiting 
 in the sanctum when Malsby returned. He 
 laid down the book he had picked up. 
 Malsby wore a broad grin. 
 
 "I judge the business went your way," 
 said Clarke. 
 
 " Sure did," said Malsby, " I Ve just put 
 over a deal that will bring me some glory 
 as well as cash but never mind that, now. 
 It isn't half as important or interesting as 
 what we were talking about." 
 
 "Well, then," said the Bostonian, "let's 
 go right on. You were asking about the 
 Unitarian belief. In the first place, sir, 
 they have no creed." 
 
 "What! No creed? Why, I don't get 
 you at all! How can they possibly have a 
 church without a creed ? What 's the j oke ? " 
 
 "No joke," said Clarke; "cold fact." 
 
 He had made his statement abruptly, not 
 without some innocent enjoyment of the 
 shock he knew it would cause. But he 
 104
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 hastened to explain ; it would not do to give 
 time for a false impression to take root in 
 the mind of his prospective father-in-law; 
 he could see that "impressions" did not 
 form very quickly there, but he could also 
 see that an idea once germinated in that soil 
 would take deep root. 
 
 " No formal creed," he explained. " It 
 lays emphasis on certain fundamental prin- 
 ciples, such as belief in the Fatherhood of 
 God the Brotherhood of Man Salva- 
 tion by Character." 
 
 " Those sound good to me," said Malsby; 
 " but hanged if I get you on the creed idea. 
 I 'd as soon think of corn without kernels as 
 a church without a written creed! " 
 
 "This," said Clarke, "is the vital differ- 
 ence between the Unitarians' belief and that 
 of the Trinitarian churches: that they do 
 not subscribe to faith in the Immaculate 
 Conception the Trinity the idea that 
 Jesus Christ was the incarnate Son of God." 
 
 He had thought it best to state these facts 
 swiftly and barely; but he saw that Mr. 
 Malsby was really shocked. 
 
 " It may seem cruel to you, Mr. Malsby, 
 to hew away these old terms, and the ideas 
 they stand for. Do not think they do it 
 105
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 without reverence, or without appreciation 
 of all that they have meant in the world's 
 life! But they believe that their faith is 
 purer, nearer the truth for which we all 
 strive and not one whit less beautiful, less 
 sustaining." 
 
 Never had Clarke discussed these things 
 when they had meant so much to him, when 
 they had fitted so closely into the deepest 
 desires of his own heart. He would not 
 dodge this issue, fateful though it might 
 easily be; and the earnestness of his pur- 
 pose made him forceful beyond ordinary ex- 
 perience. He warmed to the subject. 
 
 " Does it," he asked, " make Jesus Christ 
 less dear to us, less the Saviour of mankind, 
 to regard him as a human being, like our- 
 selves, instead of a Deity taking on himself, 
 temporarily, the mere form of a man? A 
 human being but sharing with God, more 
 than any other man who ever walked this 
 earth, the divine attributes of holiness, 
 purity, love? To me, this seems a very 
 beautiful, a very helpful and strengthening 
 belief. In adopting that belief, I am to that 
 extent, Mr. Malsby, a Unitarian." 
 
 ' You were not brought up in that church, 
 then?" 
 
 106
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 " Oh, no ; my parents were Congrega- 
 tionalists. The creed is about the same as 
 yours, in the Presbyterian Church. The 
 difference is principally perhaps entirely 
 in church polity and organization." 
 
 "Why did you change?" 
 
 Clarke answered seriously: 
 
 " Because in my childhood days the Con- 
 gregational Church taught the fear of God 
 instead of the love of God. Because I 
 wearied of what a friend of mine calls 
 ' Churchanity.' Because I wanted no meta- 
 physical doctrine to stand between me and 
 the teachings of Jesus: love, faith, service." 
 
 " We stand on the same rock." 
 
 The beautiful simplicity of the words led 
 Clarke on. 
 
 " The difficulty that confronts us today," 
 he said, " is to form an adequate conception 
 of God what He is like. I was taught 
 that He existed as a Supreme Being. One 
 of my old college professors was fond of the 
 phrase, 'self-conscious Ego.' They repre- 
 sented God as a superhuman personality, 
 able to hear and answer prayer." 
 
 Another shock for Mr. Malsby! 
 
 "Don't you still think so?" he asked. 
 
 "Don't think me thoughtlessly revolu- 
 107
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 tionary ! I am not an iconoclast ! My ideas 
 are constructive. I do not throw away an 
 item of the old faith until I have found a 
 more satisfying one to take its place." 
 
 He smiled. 
 
 " If you will not think it a trifling com- 
 parison," he continued, "I have been, in 
 religion, like the small boy climbing a tree. 
 I would not let go with one hand until I had 
 a good grip with the other." 
 
 "That's sound." 
 
 " Well, sir! Since you are so sympathetic 
 toward my ideas though I am sure they 
 must be somewhat surprising to you let 
 me answer your question as simply and 
 directly as I can. I find it difficult im- 
 possible to believe in a Supreme Being 
 seated on a throne, ruling this limitless uni- 
 verse and at the same time listening to 
 and answering supplications, wise or foolish, 
 sent up by the children of men from this 
 satellite revolving around a second or third 
 rate star. I have known persons who prayed 
 for good weather when they were going on a 
 picnic while a farmer, half a mile away, 
 might be praying for rain to save his crop! 
 
 "But that is a small matter, concerning 
 the way people pray, rather than the im- 
 108
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 portant fact of what prayer is and how we 
 ought to pray. 
 
 " On the other hand, I cannot hold with 
 the modern idea of God as a 'benevolent 
 ether,' a spirit pervading the universe 
 utterly separated from any possibility of 
 communication through prayer." 
 
 " Well, then what is your idea of God? " 
 
 "Mr. Malsby, I say honestly that we 
 simply cannot visualize with 'the mind's 
 eye ' the Supreme Being. Why attempt 
 the impossible? I am not so sure that it is 
 even desirable. If we are to worship in 
 spirit, why should we wish to turn the spirit 
 into something we can weigh and measure, 
 see and feel? I do not like to give up, Mr. 
 Malsby; I would rather fight it out than 
 surrender. But in this matter I do not think 
 surrender is involved at all. I do not believe 
 such knowledge is possible to us, or would 
 be good for us." 
 
 ' You may be right you are much nearer 
 right than the folks who make God just a 
 Big Man! But that 'benevolent ether' 
 idea is that a Unitarian belief?" 
 
 " Oh, no not distinctively. But some of 
 their preachers have taken it up. It 's one 
 of the modern ideas." 
 109
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 "Do the Unitarians not pray?" 
 
 " Oh, yes! They use prayer, but they do 
 not use it to ask favors. They think the 
 value of prayer lies in its reaction on the one 
 who practices it. In other words, you feel 
 better you are a better man after en- 
 gaging in it, just as you are after having 
 done any good act." 
 
 Mr. Malsby had been pursuing these in- 
 quiries not as a matter of doctrinal specula- 
 tion, but with a practical motive and in- 
 terest. In trying to find out what sort of a 
 man Clarke was, he had opened up a new 
 field.- 
 
 "Well," he said, "that's a new one to 
 me!" 
 
 It was time to get back to their personal 
 affairs. To bring the discussion to a close, 
 Clarke said: 
 
 "Our talk has been almost entirely nega- 
 tive. To get results, we must have some- 
 thing in the way of positive asSiCrtion. Let 
 me try to formulate for you and for Mrs. 
 Malsby my religious beliefs: 
 
 "I believe unshakably in a Supreme 
 Being. 
 
 "I believe in Jesus as the founder of a 
 religion whose doctrine is embodied in the 
 110
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 two parables of the Prodigal Son and the 
 Good Samaritan. 
 
 " I believe in immortality. 
 
 "I believe in a hell not burning with 
 fire and brimstone, but painful with remorse 
 and regret. To fit my ideas of justice, it 
 must also embody not the irrevocable sen- 
 tence of a stern and vengeful God, but an 
 opportunity for atonement and deliverance. 
 
 "I believe that sin engenders suffering, 
 not as a punishment but as the natural fruit 
 of its error, its violation of the universal law. 
 
 " I believe in spiritual, as well as physical 
 evolution; that we 'grow in grace,' as the 
 old saying was, and save our souls by de- 
 velopment in spiritual power. 
 
 " I believe in a heaven which is the logical 
 environment of the soul when it has attained 
 perfection ; not a material heaven, of shining 
 mansions and golden harps, but a place 
 where love is clouded by no shadow of 
 selfishness. I believe, sir, that the more good 
 we do in this world, the more we love God 
 and love and serve our fellow men, the 
 farther we shall be on our journey toward 
 that bourne from whence no traveller re- 
 turneth. 
 
 "And," he concluded, "I believe in all 
 111
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 churches for each in its own way is trying 
 to find for itself, and mark for those who 
 come after, the way to the true goal of all 
 life." 
 
 Clarke had never in his life talked like 
 this. It had taken a good deal of effort. 
 It was not easy for a man of his natural 
 reticence and training in repression thus to 
 unburden his soul. 
 
 He was fortunate in his auditor. 
 
 Mr. Malsby's face had reflected his feel- 
 ings, as he passed through successive stages 
 of comparative indifference sudden awak- 
 ening to keen concern a disquieting doubt 
 slow conversion, and final clear convic- 
 tion. He sat a moment quite motionless, 
 then he rose to his feet, and, grasping 
 Clarke's hand, he said: 
 
 " My boy, you 'II do! I shall have no fear 
 about trusting my daughter to you. Mrs. 
 Malsby should have none if she has, I will 
 undertake to remove it. 
 
 'You ought to have been a minister! It 
 would do us good to get more of your kind 
 of doctrine, instead of the pulpit pap they 
 feed us on. 
 
 " We Ve got a lot more ground to cover, 
 but we Ve had a pretty long session. Sup- 
 112
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 pose we let the other things wait till 
 afternoon?" 
 
 That was a welcome suggestion to Clarke. 
 They went out for a short walk through the 
 town. 
 
 113
 
 CHAPTER XH 
 
 A~?TER luncheon the conference was 
 resumed. Dispensing with prelimi- 
 naries, Mr. Malsby began: 
 
 " Louise tells me that she has given you 
 a pretty fair idea of what she has been 
 through here, but you are entitled to know 
 something about her financial situation, and 
 I 
 
 Clarke interrupted: 
 
 "Excuse me, Mr. Malsby I do not 
 want you to tell me about your daughter's 
 finances. That has nothing to do with my 
 errand here. I am perfectly capable of sup- 
 porting her, and her children, in comfort." 
 
 " My dear Mr. Clarke, I don't doubt it. 
 But' 3 
 
 "No, wait a minute! It is my place to 
 prove to you that this is the fact, and I am 
 ready to do it. I inherited a modest fortune 
 from my father, and I have added some- 
 thing to it. My practice has been fairly 
 remunerative. If your daughter has any 
 property, so much the better. It will be so
 
 much more in reserve for her and the chil- 
 dren, in the event of my death, or some 
 unforeseeable disaster. But let me make 
 it perfectly clear, Mr. Malsby, that I would 
 marry her tomorrow, if she lost every cent 
 she has today ! " 
 
 "Right," said the elder man, cheerfully. 
 "That's what you ought to say I don't 
 give you any special credit for it; I'd say 
 the same myself if I was in your place and 
 you in mine. And I know you mean it, 
 just the same as I would. In fact, I guess 
 I told Mrs. Malsby's father something 
 pretty much like it, at that. Though," he 
 added, " she hadn't as much as Louise, and 
 I hadn't anything." 
 
 "We're getting off the point," said 
 Clarke, as the other seemed to be losing 
 himself in recollections called up by the 
 allusion to his own courting days. 
 
 "Right, again! Well, sir you don't 
 quite get me. These matters have got to be 
 considered. And in this case there 's a very 
 special reason. You remember, I spoke of 
 Louise's financial ' situation' not 'affairs,' 
 as would have been more natural to say ? " 
 
 Clarke nodded. 
 
 "Well, there you are! It is a situation, 
 115
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY; 
 
 and it has a very special bearing on your 
 wish to marry Louise. It isn't only the 
 question whether you shall marry her or not ; 
 it 's a question of whether you are willing to 
 enter into an engagement with a string tied 
 to it." 
 
 Clarke apologized for the haste with 
 which he had spoken. 
 
 " I shall be glad to hear anything you wish 
 to tell me," he said. 
 
 " I am sure you will! And I tell you, my 
 boy, this means something to me, too ! You 
 may be of the greatest assistance to me." 
 'You surprise me, sir," said Clarke. 
 
 "Yes, it's so. I am carrying something 
 of a load. When Louise's husband died, I 
 came on and took charge of his affairs. 
 They were in pretty bad shape. He was 
 in the grain elevator business had ex- 
 panded too fast, and it looked as if the whole 
 thing might go to pieces as soon as he 
 dropped it. But I had enough ready cash 
 to throw in to save the day, and I closed 
 out the business with three hundred thousand 
 showing clear." 
 
 "Good," said Clarke. "You must have 
 used keen judgment." 
 
 "Well, sir, I guess my judgment's about 
 116
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 as good as anybody's, when there 's a few 
 dollars at stake. I have been pretty suc- 
 cessful for a fellow that started with nothing 
 but these!" 
 
 He held out his two rugged hands. 
 
 "And that" Clarke supplemented, nod- 
 ding. " I mean your head." 
 
 He enjoyed the unconscious pride in Mr. 
 Malsby's manner: that uncalculated bid for 
 a word of praise evident in his whole bearing, 
 the same characteristic that he had remarked 
 in the daughter and which made him admire 
 and love her the more. 
 
 Swiftly he resolved to gratify the in- 
 stinctive desire. Without apology for the 
 directness of the query, he asked: 
 
 " How did you make your money? " 
 
 He was entirely correct in his persuasion 
 that the question would be received as a 
 manifestation of complimentary interest 
 rather than as an impertinent intrusion. 
 Malsby warmed to the subject. 
 
 " Well, sir, I made my start in corn, and 
 as fast as I made a dollar, I put it into corn 
 lands the safest and most profitable in- 
 vestment that can be made in this country 
 today. Better than Government bonds," 
 he added with emphasis. 
 117
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 "Why, you surprise me," said Clarke. 
 "I thought there was no investment quite 
 so precarious as Western farm mortgages. 
 We New Englanders have lost millions in 
 them." 
 
 "I know you 'have!" Mr. Malsby 
 chuckled. "But there are Western farms 
 and Western farms. You can't make a 
 mistake if you buy a farm right in the Corn 
 Belt. That doesn't mean just anywhere 
 that people are trying to raise corn! It 
 means anywhere in a strictly limited area, 
 where planted corn is dead sure to grow 
 money. It's like the champagne belt in 
 France." 
 
 "I see," said Clarke. "There's the ad- 
 vantage local knowledge has over remote 
 ignorance." 
 
 "Why," said Mr. Malsby, "farms that I 
 bought for ten or fifteen dollars an acre are 
 worth a hundred now, and under leases are 
 paying handsome dividends on that figure 
 right now, Sir. 
 
 " And I '11 tell you another thing. Upon 
 the corn crop grown on these lands depends 
 the price of hogs. And hogs, sir, are one of 
 the corner-stones of American prosperity! 
 Put the two together corn, hogs in the 
 118
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 way I have indicated, and, if you know the 
 market, they spell profits!" 
 
 " Kansas and Chicago," said Clarke, 
 "feed America." 
 
 "Well, my boy, now you can see that 
 Louise is well provided for. She gets her 
 share of her husband's property, and she '11 
 get my bit of a pile some day." 
 
 ' You know my feeling about these mat- 
 ters," said Clarke. "Why come back to 
 them?" 
 
 "No, now don't bristle up! I'll give 
 it to you straight. These holdings" he 
 simply could not keep off the topic, it 
 seemed "are safe enough. The question 
 is, what is to become of the Willoughby 
 millions? Are the children going to get 
 their father's share, or is this damned skunk 
 of a Sharp going to do them out of it ? And 
 just you put this down in your notebook, 
 muy pronto; it is not a fact that Louise and 
 I have any hankering after this fortune just 
 because it's money. Even on the young- 
 sters' account, I 'd never worry about it 
 except that I 'd creep a mile for every cent 
 of it, on my bare knees, before I 'd let that 
 scoundrel walk away with it. The stake 
 isn't money alone; it's justice see?" 
 119
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 "Is this fellow Sharp really so bad?" 
 Clarke asked. 
 
 "Is he? Is he?" Mr. Malsby showed 
 some excitement. "He sure is and we'll 
 find him worse, too, I guess, before we get 
 to the bottom of it! 
 
 " Sharp has just walked right into the 
 Willoughby Mansion and taken possession. 
 He wears the dead man's shoes as if they 'd 
 been made for him. It would jar you to see 
 him at the head of the family pew of a 
 Sunday morning." 
 
 " Do the younger Willoughbys stand for 
 it?" asked Clarke in surprise. 
 
 " They do ! They Ve got to ! Louise says 
 she told you how he holds a club over their 
 heads, with his knowledge of how the Works 
 were run when the old man was alive. 
 
 " Sharp made his first successful move 
 when he got the old man to make his will, 
 leaving all his money to his wife, and naming 
 him, Sharp, as executor. 
 
 ; ' That will was a wonder. It provided 
 that if any of the children attempted to 
 break it, they should be disinherited by his 
 wife. That was the only respect in which he 
 curtailed her right to dispose of the property 
 as she pleased." 
 
 120
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 " That was clever," said Clarke, " but not 
 original. Men have made such wills in favor 
 of their wives, in order to compel the good 
 behavior of the children to their mother." 
 
 " Oh! yes and I don't doubt that Sharp 
 used that argument to influence Old Man 
 Willoughby. And, you see, the old man 
 overlooked the fact that such a provision 
 would make it possible for the mother to 
 deprive any one of the children of his right- 
 ful inheritance. Or, if he considered it, he 
 may have decided that such a thing would 
 never be thought of, and need not be pro- 
 vided against. What he did certainly over- 
 look was the rottenness of that fellow 
 Sharp!" 
 
 " Well, then," said Clarke, " am I right in 
 supposing that Sharp has used his influence 
 over Old Mrs. Willoughby with the idea of 
 influencing her, later, to disinherit your 
 daughter, and will part of the property to 
 him? I thought when your daughter told 
 me about it, that she was allowing Sharp 
 more power than he possessed " 
 
 "Not a damned bit! And all he's got, 
 
 he means to use! But that 's what I 'm here 
 
 for; I'm going to see justice done. I'm 
 
 going to watch out for those children, sir ! " 
 
 121
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 " And what is your plan of action? " asked 
 Clarke, the instinct of the lawyer stirring. 
 
 " I propose to force Sharp to put his cards 
 right out on the table including the ace he 
 holds up his sleeve to find out just how 
 much there is in the estate, then to persuade 
 the old lady to make a will right away, let 
 Judge Pike draw it up with all due for- 
 mality, and keep possession of it. He has the 
 confidence of everybody about here, and 
 we '11 see that no dirty work is done that 
 the children get what would have been their 
 father's share. How does that strike you? " 
 
 " I don't see how you could do any better. 
 Of course, that would not prevent the old 
 lady from giving her property away in her 
 lifetime, nor would it prevent her from mak- 
 ing another will. However, a later will 
 made in favor of Sharp and his wife, by a 
 woman of her advanced years, would prob- 
 ably, under the circumstances, be easily 
 broken, on the ground of undue influence." 
 
 " Good! Now, until that will is made, we 
 have got to lay low, to play Br'er Rabbit. 
 It won't do to give John Sharp or Mother 
 Willoughby any excuse for refusing to pro- 
 vide for the children. Now, what would be 
 the best pretext she could possibly have? " 
 122
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 'Your daughter mentioned the objection 
 the old lady would have to her marrying 
 again " 
 
 " There you Ve got it! That 's the key to 
 the whole situation. Of course, Louise 
 knows the old lady better than I do and 
 she says if it were known that she had be- 
 come engaged, and was going to live in an- 
 other part of the country and take the chil- 
 dren with her, why, that would be the end of 
 their inheritance. And I feel mighty certain 
 she 's right." 
 
 "And "said Clarke. 
 
 " And that means that the only condition 
 upon which you and Louise can enter upon a 
 formal engagement now is that it shall be 
 kept absolutely secret. I hate to have to 
 be the one to name it to you, for it's a 
 mighty mean condition. However, you 
 know how I 'm fixed and where I stand in 
 all these matters. 
 
 "And, by jingo, if that condition is ac- 
 ceptable to you, then you not only have my 
 full assent, but you have my assurance that 
 I shall feel honored, highly honored, by the 
 alliance." 
 
 Clarke decided with the speed of a lover's 
 impatience. Why let so small an obstacle 
 123
 
 stand in the way of his claim upon the lady 
 being established as "official"? 
 
 He grasped Mr. Malsby's hand, thanked 
 him for his friendliness, and assured him 
 earnestly that his confidence would not prove 
 to have been misplaced. 
 
 " Now," said Mr. Malsby, " I '11 round up 
 the ladies I expect I won't have very far 
 to look for them and we '11 report." 
 
 Mrs. Malsby, as she entered the room, 
 gave in her appearance every indication of 
 complete consciousness of the gravity of the 
 situation. Mrs. Willoughby wore an air of 
 pleased anticipation clouded with hesitancy. 
 
 Mr. Malsby assumed an air of mock 
 gravity, and said: 
 
 "The congregation will please come to 
 order. The Committee on Ordination begs 
 to report that it has examined the candidate 
 on all points touching his religious beliefs and 
 unbeliefs, and has found him thoroughly 
 orthodox, holding only such beliefs as be- 
 come a Christian gentleman. 
 
 " Really, mother," he hastened to add, as 
 Mrs. Malsby started to speak, "we have 
 talked the thing out to a finish Mr. Clarke 
 is all right you will approve of his religion 
 when I tell you about it. 
 124
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 " And now, daughter," and there was a 
 deep note of tenderness in his voice, "step 
 here." 
 
 Mrs. Willoughby stepped forward. 
 
 "I give you," said her father, with an 
 emotion he no longer tried to conceal, "I 
 give you in betrothal to this worthy claimant 
 for your hand." 
 
 Then he resorted again to the subterfuge 
 of a playful manner, and said: 
 
 " And now I offer him an opportunity to 
 show that he has no hard feelings." 
 
 Whereupon Chester Clarke gave full and 
 abundant demonstration for not only did 
 he kiss his betrothed one with fervor, but he 
 saluted her mother on each cheek, to the 
 utter confusion of the good lady. 
 
 It was agreed that the children were not 
 to be let into the secret, as Mrs. Willoughby 
 was anxious to wait until they might be led 
 to make the suggestion apparently on their 
 own initiative. And Clarke was to be per- 
 mitted to share his joy with his own family 
 and with perhaps one or two of his closest 
 friends. During the remainder of his stay 
 in Topeka, he was to be the lawyer who had 
 come from the East on business for Mr. 
 Malsby. 
 
 125
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 As they followed her father and mother 
 out, Mrs. Willoughby said in a low tone: 
 
 "It's all for the children, Chester, my 
 dear one. And we shall be all the happier 
 some day, denying ourselves for their sake ! " 
 
 126
 
 PART TWO
 
 PART TWO 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 FROM the hour in which he had sealed 
 the compact with Mrs. Willoughby, 
 Chester Clarke had found himself com- 
 mitted to a life which involved him con- 
 stantly in contradictions with his natural 
 inclinations. He was frank, outspoken, 
 straightforward. Subterfuge was foreign 
 to his temperament. He had always hated 
 deceit, scorned intrigue, and feared no 
 scrutiny of his motives or his acts. This 
 candor, surpassing the common measure of 
 honesty, was the broad and solid base upon 
 which rested securely the rising structure of 
 his reputation at the bar. Opposing counsel 
 had to call upon their strongest reserves 
 when engaged in logomachy with him but 
 they never needed to watch him for sharp 
 practices. What finer professional asset 
 could a man wish than such testimony as this 
 from his rivals and competitors? 
 
 But now he had a secret to guard. He, 
 129
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 who had never needed to censor his words 
 before uttering them, must now be con- 
 stantly on the watch lest a word betray him. 
 And this was none of your natural secrets, 
 those dark and heavy bits of knowledge 
 whose specific gravity sinks them deep in the 
 fluid of the mind; this was a bright and 
 buoyant thing, seeking the surface, like a 
 bubble born to float in the sunlight and turn 
 each ray into a flashing spectrum. It made 
 him happy and happiness is lightly vocal. 
 It made him exultant and the natural 
 speech of exultation is a challenging cheer. 
 And he must hide his happiness, repress his 
 exultation, and be silent. 
 
 He, who had never either shunned pub- 
 licity or invited it, now found himself of an 
 evening, as he looked through his Transcript, 
 wondering how it would seem to be con- 
 fronted by a paragraph like this : " Mr. and 
 Mrs. Malsby of Lawrence, Kansas, have 
 announced the engagement of their daugh- 
 ter, Mrs. Clara Louise Willoughby, to 
 Chester Clarke, junior partner in the well- 
 known law firm of and Clarke. Mrs. 
 
 Willoughby is the widow of the late Walter 
 
 Willoughby of Topeka. Mr. Clarke is a 
 
 graduate of Harvard, one of the most promi- 
 
 130
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 nent members of the Boston Bar, a member 
 of the Union and Country Clubs." He 
 thought he would rather like it. Such a 
 notice would put matters on their natural 
 footing. 
 
 But this, and the satisfaction of introduc- 
 ing his beautiful fiancee to his friends, must 
 be forgone: "for the children's sake" she 
 had said; and that meant, to him, for her 
 sake. Whatever was asked for her sake was 
 certain to be granted by him, ungrudgingly ; 
 not easily, perhaps, but always the more 
 joyously the greater the sacrifice, because 
 true love welcomes sacrifice, its best expres- 
 sion. Besides, the day could not be long de- 
 layed when he would be free to act accord- 
 ing to the promptings of his nature. Mean- 
 while, irksome though it might be, he would 
 make this experience a soil for the growth 
 of satisfaction by living up to the last letter 
 of the requirement. His reconciliation to 
 the arrangement was made complete in the 
 ultimate degree, by its appeal to his innate 
 and developed chivalry: it was for her sake! 
 
 During the last days of his visit at Topeka 
 he had begun to play the game, ungrudg- 
 ingly, faithfully, joyfully. It had been 
 really a game. He had been careful in the 
 131
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 presence of the servants to let no careless 
 word escape, no look betray the secret. He 
 had treated the children as any casual visitor 
 who liked children would have been expected 
 to; he had been formally friendly, not fa- 
 miliar, in his relations with Mr. and Mrs. 
 Malsby. Hungry for kisses, he had taken 
 one for every forty he wanted, and had taken 
 that one as guardedly as though it had been 
 illicit. His deportment, so far as any eye 
 had seen it, had been that of the business 
 man on a business errand. Louise's constant 
 presence had helped ; but now, back in Bos- 
 ton, without that solace, he found the game 
 less easy. The very ignorance and unsus- 
 pectingness of his friends and associates 
 made him restless. 
 
 But there was another side to it. His 
 outlook on life had changed. Life seemed 
 nobler, broader, more full of purpose. He 
 had a greater part to play, in the practical 
 view, an added incentive to his striving for 
 professional success. The light of his fame 
 would shine upon her! He felt more kindly 
 disposed toward his fellow man. He even 
 attempted poetry as many a one before him 
 has when first smitten with the divine afflatus. 
 These lines he called: 
 
 132
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 WAYMATES 
 
 Over the hills and through the heather, 
 All in the merry midyear weather 
 
 Under the sky 
 
 Of dear July, 
 Wandering, just we two together. 
 
 You and I, in the wide world's ways, 
 You and I, in the golden days 
 
 The ways of youth, 
 
 The days of truth 
 Young life and love and tuneful lays! 
 
 Over the hills to the sunset strand, 
 Over the waves to the wonderland 
 
 Beyond the dim 
 
 And gloaming rim 
 Of the old gray world go, hand in hand 
 
 Hand in hand (for the dice are thrown), 
 Heart of my heart, my love, my own 
 
 Blue sky o'er us, 
 
 And before us 
 Luring lights of the far unknown. 
 
 Less ecstatically, he had written : 
 
 " STATE STREET, BOSTON, 
 
 "May 20, 19. 
 " MY DEAR MR. MALSBY : 
 
 " Let me thank you for the cordial manner 
 133
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 in which you received me at Topeka, and for 
 the confidence you have reposed in me in 
 giving your assent to my engagement to 
 your daughter. I hope and trust, not only 
 that I shall be a good husband to her, but 
 that I may be able in some way to help 
 make your later years and may they be 
 many! your best and happiest. 
 
 "If at any time you are able to visit 
 Boston, it will afford me the greatest pleas- 
 ure to entertain you, and to have you meet 
 some of my friends. You will like Boston 
 still better when you know them. 
 
 " Present my compliments to Mrs. Malsby, 
 and believe me, 
 
 " Yours faithfully, 
 
 "CHESTER CLARKE." 
 
 The old man's prompt answer had de- 
 lighted Clarke with its simple sincerity: 
 
 " TOPEKA, KANSAS, 
 
 " May 24, 19. 
 " CHESTER CLARKE, ESQ., 
 
 " State Street, Boston. 
 " MY DEAR SON-TO-BE : 
 
 'Your letter of May 20 came duly to 
 hand. Contents noted. 
 134
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 " I make no doubt you will be not only a 
 good husband to Louise, but that you will 
 be a good father to her children. I don't 
 suppose I am very long for this world, and 
 when these business matters get adjusted, 
 you can't get married too soon to suit me. 
 
 " Thank you for your invite to visit you. 
 I hope it may happen, and will try to bring 
 it about. 
 
 " Very sincerely yours, 
 
 "ROBERT MALSBY." 
 
 Then Clarke's literary labors had gone a 
 step farther. First he had bought an en- 
 gagement ring, a token of their plighted 
 troth. What would be good enough for her? 
 He must find one like herself: beautiful, 
 artistic, chaste. He had run down to New 
 York, to make the purchase away from 
 curious eyes. He had visited the best shops, 
 had looked over all the stock, and had re- 
 turned to the place where he had seen some- 
 thing that had seemed just to suit a large, 
 perfectly shaped pearl, of lovely lustre and 
 just a flush of pink, and flanked by two 
 small diamonds that gave fire to the central 
 gem. Before sending it, he had written a 
 note to be placed in the case: 
 135
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 " DEAiEEST LOVE : 
 
 " I wish I could be there to place this ring 
 on your finger. You will have in it a token 
 of my lasting devotion. 
 
 " HESTEB." 
 
 And she had written hack: 
 
 " MY DEABEST BOY : 
 
 "Oh, what a beautiful ring! When I 
 opened the little case, it flashed out with the 
 most delicate tints of a sunrise. I wish 
 everyone could see it ! 
 
 " And then I read your note and I thought 
 of all this ring meant to you and me, the 
 precious things of which it is a symbol 
 and the tears came, tears of joy, and I ran 
 upstairs to my room and locked myself in. 
 I wanted to be alone. 
 
 " Then I put the ring on my finger, and 
 knelt down and prayed prayed that I 
 might be a good wife to you. 
 
 " And now I am wearing your ring as I 
 write' a token of our lasting devotion. 
 
 "Your 
 
 "LouisE." 
 
 After reading this letter the necessary 
 and proper number of times, and before lay- 
 136
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 ing it away with his dearest personalia, 
 Clarke had put it to his lips. A perfume, 
 the perfume that clung to everything that 
 had been in her possession, came from it. 
 
 She seemed very near to him at that 
 moment. 
 
 137
 
 CHAPTER H 
 
 rTIHE summer went slowly through its 
 A flow, high tide and ebb. An unbroken 
 succession of letters passed between Bos- 
 ton and Topeka; letters loaded with asser- 
 tions of unabated affection, and graced with 
 frequent discoveries of some new phase of 
 the wonderful love that had entered their 
 lives. Each letter had its report also of 
 their daily doings. 
 
 Clarke had spent this summer, for the 
 most part, at the North Shore, where he was 
 within easy reach of his office, to which he 
 was closely confined. He had made one 
 yachting cruise with a party of friends along 
 the Maine coast. So that these letters were 
 bright and happy, and only the more pleas- 
 ant to their reader because of the constant 
 revelation of a gentle impatience under the 
 necessity of continued separation. As the 
 summer grew older, however, Clarke's long- 
 ing for Louise's companionship became more 
 impetuous. 
 
 Her letters told of the life in Topeka. 
 138
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 Father and mother were well; they were 
 planning the new home in California. The 
 doctors had advised the change of climate. 
 The children were enjoying their long vaca- 
 tion; Alice often spoke of him, Clarke, but 
 Ernest had hardly mentioned him. 
 
 Old Mrs. Willoughby, though seldom 
 seen, was apparently in the best of health. 
 Mr. Malsby had taken up the matter of the 
 will with the other members of the family, 
 who were giving him what help they could. 
 Sharp was hanging about. He was making 
 himself very strong in the community, tak- 
 ing a leading part in its public charities. 
 He and Lucy, she had heard, were to take 
 old Mrs. Willoughby to New York with 
 them in the winter. While he (Sharp) had 
 been away, on business, Mr. Malsby had had 
 one or two interviews with old Mrs. Wil- 
 loughby, to whom he had talked pretty 
 plainly Oh, and he had also gone over 
 the situation with Judge Pike who had prom- 
 ised to do all he could. 
 
 The new house took a larger and larger 
 part in the eastward section of the corre- 
 spondence. It was to be a big place, in mis- 
 sion style. The architect had been given 
 carte blanche, and he had devoted his in- 
 139
 
 genuity to devising new contributions to the 
 attractiveness of its appearance and to the 
 comfort of its occupants. 
 
 There would be large, airy parlors, broad 
 verandahs, hanging balconies, an open-air 
 breakfast room, chambers with dressing 
 room and bath en suite; library and music 
 room, with a magnificent pipe organ. The 
 furnishings were all to come from St. Louis. 
 
 Father and Mother Malsby were con- 
 stantly coming to her, Louise, with questions 
 and pleas for advice. Should there be a 
 window here, or would there be better? 
 Would this verandah better be placed so 
 looking toward the bay, or so., giving the 
 land view? Would not a loggia be desirable 
 here, and a sunken garden there? And as 
 to pictures and chairs and hangings! 
 " They are always asking me, and I try to be 
 interested ; but my thoughts are on the home 
 we shall some day have soon, I hope 
 you and I, in the East." 
 
 Once Clarke wrote : " I wonder that your 
 father has ventured to put so much money 
 into a dwelling house. It looks to me like an 
 investment of a hundred thousand, at least." 
 
 And she wrote back: "Father says that 
 he means this place to be the very best he can 
 140
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 make it and Mother has put her heart 
 into the scheme. It is remarkable to see how 
 much younger it has made her, how much 
 more interest she takes in life. You would 
 never have expected her to be so enthusiastic 
 over anything! It seems as though it were 
 realizing the dream of her girlhood. Really, 
 the two are just simply having another 
 honeymoon, and it's perfectly lovely to see 
 them so happy." 
 
 Mr. Malsby wrote in more practical vein. 
 He said: 
 
 " I like it out there, and the doctors say it 
 will keep me going years longer. Whether 
 they 're right or not, I Ve been out there, 
 and I like the place. People go in for living 
 there. I 'm too far along to be very gay 
 myself, but us old fellows like to see the 
 young ones having a good time. I got a 
 splendid big lot on the finest boulevard in 
 the best resident section, at a great bargain. 
 It can never lose its value, and is pretty sure 
 to be worth more every year. Rich Ameri- 
 cans are getting richer, and California is 
 their playground." 
 
 It was in July that he had pleasant evi- 
 dence of success, in half at least of her plan 
 for bringing the children over to their pro- 
 141
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 posed marriage. He received a note, written 
 in a childish but painstaking hand: 
 
 " DEAR MR. CLARKE : 
 
 " My mamma has told me that you would 
 like to marry her. She is very lonely since 
 papa left her. Sometimes she cries. Ernest 
 and I are as good to her as we know how to 
 be, but it is not the same. I am sorry for her 
 and I think it would be nice to have you as a 
 new papa, so you had better marry her as 
 quick as ever you can. 
 
 ' Your loving 
 
 "ALICE." 
 
 He replied: 
 
 "My DEAR LITTLE FRIEND: 
 
 " I found your small note in a pile of big 
 letters on my desk this morning. None of 
 them were half as nice as yours. I read it 
 first. I 'm glad that you think I would make 
 you a good papa. We would have good 
 times together, would we not? I hope I 
 shall see you soon again. I thank you for 
 writing. 
 
 " I enclose one hug, and one big kiss 
 don't miss them. 
 
 " Your devoted friend, 
 
 "CHESTER CLARKE." 
 142
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 There were some things in the letters that 
 brought Clarke less pleasure. Once or twice 
 they gave him a pang of what was it? 
 Not jealousy; he was too strong a man for 
 that. It was not suspicion; his Louise was 
 far above that. But it was a very real pain. 
 Such things as this caused it: Louise wrote 
 about a card party to which she had gone 
 one evening. She told how one or two 
 gentlemen had paid her rather marked at- 
 tention, and added that their wives were 
 clearly jealous. She reported the incident 
 without a hint of impropriety. But it 
 hurt! Clarke could not formulate a griev- 
 ance; if he could have done so he would 
 have refused, absolutely, to acknowledge it 
 even to himself. His Louise could not be 
 kept out of sight. His Louise must be ad- 
 mired whenever and wherever she was seen. 
 He must school himself to submit with 
 patience to what was, after all, the most 
 honest of tributes to her loveliness and so 
 to his own good judgment. 
 
 But it was a greater trial when she wrote : 
 
 "DEAR ONE: 
 
 " I have had such a good time! I went to 
 Chicago on a shopping trip. I stayed two 
 143
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 or three days with some friends there. At 
 dinner the first night, there was another 
 guest, a very prominent man who is presi- 
 dent of some railroad or other. He must 
 be well along in the fifties, but is very gal- 
 lant, and decidedly good looking. He paid 
 a very great deal of attention to me. That 
 night my hostess joked me about it, and said 
 I'd be sure to have a proposal from him! 
 Wasn't it ridiculous? I thought so, of 
 course but what do you think happened! 
 The very next day there came for me a 
 magnificent box of flowers. I don't see how 
 it could have cost a penny less than fifty 
 dollars with his card, and a graceful little 
 sentiment on it. Of course, I showed it to 
 Mary, and we had a good laugh together. 
 But the next day he called, and proposed 
 much to my astonishment." 
 
 Even this caused Clarke no severe dis- 
 turbance. The instinctive recoil found no 
 justification in his mind. 
 
 These letters did, however, increase his 
 uneasiness in the separation. It is the simple 
 fact that he was not jealous, nor suspicious; 
 and he was absolutely sure in his attitude 
 of utter faith, for Louise had not even the 
 slightest thought of danger to their love. 
 144
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 There was no danger! But Clarke wanted 
 her. He could not go on living with all those 
 miles of good American land between them. 
 One way or another, he must have her near 
 him. 
 
 So he wrote that either she must come 
 East, or he would have to go to Kansas. He 
 could not live without her. He could endure 
 the separation no longer! Which would 
 she prefer? 
 
 The hours of waiting for reply 'dragged 
 endlessly, but at last came her answer, and 
 it made him happy. 
 
 "Dear Boy," she wrote, "I can under- 
 stand so well how you feel for I feel the 
 same way. I miss you so! I think of you 
 all day, I dream of you at night. Some- 
 times I want to walk right up to someone, 
 anyone, and say : ' I love Chester Clarke 
 do you know it? I love the dearest, noblest 
 man on earth and I am going to marry him ! ' 
 
 " Now, I have some good news for you. 
 I am coming East! We have decided to 
 place Ernest in a school on the Hudson, and 
 Alice is to go to a girls' school nearby. Of 
 course, I shall go on with them and see them 
 properly installed and then, dear, cannot 
 you and I have a visit together? It has been 
 145
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 so hard, being deprived of the companion- 
 ship that is ours by right. 
 
 " Oh, Chester, I hate this money business! 
 But it all has to be done for the children 
 and I know you are as anxious as myself to 
 save them from injustice. I dread that man 
 Sharp ! If he were a real criminal, an open 
 lawbreaker, I should fear him less. If he 
 were more the villain, I should know better 
 how to deal with him. He is the more harm- 
 ful, because of his seeming virtue. I believe 
 he is not so much deliberately planning 
 wickedness, as following his own scheming 
 nature! 
 
 "It all comes to one thing, my dear 
 you and I must be together for a while. I 
 shall reach New York, after placing the 
 children in school, September 28. Will you 
 meet me there?" 
 
 Chester Clarke thought it quite likely that 
 he would; and immediately wrote her so. 
 
 September 28 he marked the day on his 
 calendar, so that he could cross off the days 
 between as they passed, like a soldier cutting 
 a notch in his gunstock for every one of the 
 foemen he brought down. Every day that 
 stood between him and September 28 was an 
 enemy, to be slain without mercy! 
 146
 
 CHAPTER m 
 
 THEY were on their way East, Louise 
 and the two children. Clarke had 
 wished there were some place where he could 
 entertain them, but his father and mother 
 were dead, and the only other relatives he 
 had were his sister and aunt, who kept house 
 together in the suburbs on a scale too small 
 to be able to stand such an invasion. So 
 there was nothing for it but to see his fiancee 
 in New York, and to wait until she should 
 send for him. Life seemed to have become, 
 for him, one long wait ! 
 
 At last a letter came, saying she had 
 placed the children in school, and was at one 
 of the Fifth Avenue hotels ready to receive 
 him. This was an old-fashioned, superla- 
 tively respectable and notedly domestic 
 house. 
 
 Clarke reached New York well on in the 
 afternoon and went straight to the hotel. 
 He took a room, then sent up his card, and 
 went to the parlor to wait: always wait 
 but now it would be only a matter of min- 
 utes, instead of days and weeks ! 
 147
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 Soon she came, looking lovelier than ever. 
 
 After a moment, in which they exchanged 
 greetings, Clarke said: 
 
 "Dear, if we stay here another minute, 
 there will be a ' scene ' ! I cannot wait, pro- 
 prieties or no!" 
 
 " Let 's go up to my room," she said. " I, 
 too, hate this formality." 
 
 As they went up in the elevator, she said : 
 
 " I have always stopped here on my visits 
 to New York, the house is so quiet and com- 
 fortable so homey. They have always 
 been kind and obliging at the office and it is 
 convenient to have a place where you are so 
 well known that you can get a check cashed 
 at any time." 
 
 Once in the room, with the door closed be- 
 hind them and all the curious eyes of the 
 world shut out, Clarke held out his arms, and 
 she let herself be gathered close in them. 
 Sweeter were the kisses, for the long time 
 without them. 
 
 Then Clarke seated himself in a big easy 
 chair, and again folded his beloved one 
 in his arms. And there they sat, scarcely 
 speaking, while the clock on the mantel 
 ticked off the full minutes. They were liv- 
 ing in an eternity one of love's eternities 
 148
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 bound up in a few moments of the time 
 which we measure off so grudgingly when 
 under the tyranny of smaller matters. It 
 was enough for each of them just to be in 
 the presence of the other. All the great 
 lovers of the world and most of the little 
 ones, made greater by love have known 
 these all-encompassing moments. 
 
 The clock struck the half hour, then the 
 hour. The circle of the little eternity had 
 been explored. They parted for the time 
 needed to dress for dinner. 
 
 Then there followed the happiest of meals. 
 They went to the theatre. Clarke escorted 
 Louise to her room, they said good-night 
 in lovers' fashion, and Clarke returned to 
 his own quarters. 
 
 A sharp rap followed almost immediately. 
 Wondering who could wish to see him at 
 that time and place, he opened the door. 
 
 An attache of the hotel stood in the 
 corridor. 
 
 " You have just come from a lady's room," 
 he said, curtly. 
 
 Clarke was too surprised and indignant 
 to shape his words. 
 
 "Why what do you mean?" he asked: 
 not very brilliantly or effectively, as he had 
 149
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 to admit to himself afterward. But he was 
 taken clean off his feet, bowled over. 
 
 "I mean just that that you have just 
 left the room of a lady who is our guest." 
 
 "Well!" said Clarke, "is that any con- 
 cern of yours?" 
 
 In the utter consciousness of virtue, it was 
 impossible to adjust himself so swiftly to this 
 unexpected challenge. The man was inso- 
 lent; but he represented the law-and-order 
 of the place. Whether his challenge was 
 proper or not, it had behind it an unassail- 
 able authority. 
 
 "It is. No man is allowed to enter a 
 woman's room in this hotel. It is against 
 the rules of the house. Unless you might 
 be the lady's husband," he added. He was 
 evidently just a little fearful, after all. 
 
 Clarke took advantage of the man's un- 
 certainty. 
 
 "Well! you do not know that I am not 
 the lady's husband," he said, and closed the 
 door. 
 
 He stood for a moment aghast. The 
 thing was outrageous! He could not get 
 it straight in his mind; what a world! He, 
 a gentleman, to be told by this whipper- 
 snapper in uniform that he should not see 
 150
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 his betrothed, his One Woman, in private! 
 And yet, if that was the rule of the house 
 the house, mindful of its own interests, and 
 compelled to take people as they came, had 
 a right to make its rules had to make rules 
 in self-defence. Damn such rules! not as 
 rules, perhaps, for his lawyer mind had to 
 analyze, but as rules dictating his course of 
 conduct. But there they were, the Rules 
 of the House, and with the power of en- 
 forcement behind them. Right or wrong, 
 good or bad, just or unjust, there they were 
 and he was subject to them; they could 
 not be ignored, certainly not defied. To 
 say more would be to court disaster. Al- 
 ready, though in perfect innocence, he had 
 compromised the woman he loved, the 
 woman who was to be his wife; had com- 
 promised her, at least, in the eyes of this 
 contemptible but powerful flunkey, who 
 probably had received his orders from the 
 office, and would almost certainly report 
 there. At any moment he might expect a 
 request for both of them to leave the hotel. 
 In rough words they would be turned out. 
 No man had ever dared to speak to Chester 
 Clarke like that. This lackey could do it; 
 and there was no resisting the power he rep- 
 151
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 resented. It was decidedly an awkward 
 situation for Chester Clarke. 
 
 Indignation apprehension mortifica- 
 tion and humiliation: these were his emo- 
 tions. They summed almost into fear. 
 
 He had not had a thought of anyone 
 watching him. He had thought of himself 
 and Louise being joyously isolated in the 
 crowd. That seemed to have been a mis- 
 conception. The question now was: What 
 to do? 
 
 Louise could have no suspicion of what 
 was going on. She had been as unconcerned 
 in receiving him in her room as she would 
 have been had he called at her own home. 
 It would distress her beyond measure to 
 know that such a thing had happened. And 
 how could she possibly help holding him in 
 some degree responsible? Even if she did 
 not openly blame him, she must inevitably 
 associate him painfully with the humiliating 
 experience. It would rob their reunion of 
 its heavenly joy, it would darken their now 
 roseate future! 
 
 At last Clarke arrived at the one clear 
 solution, the one possible conclusion. They 
 must leave the place and find other accom- 
 modations ; and she must not know anything 
 
 152
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 about this distressing incident. He must 
 effect the change without arousing her 
 suspicion. 
 
 With this resolution in mind and still 
 nursing his indignation he retired. 
 
 As they sat at breakfast the next morn- 
 ing, chatting happily, Clarke managed to 
 remark with satisfactorily casual manner: 
 
 " This hotel is pretty much given over to 
 transients. It isn't just the place for us. 
 You should have an apartment just such 
 a place as I got for you in Boston." 
 
 "Oh, that would be lovely!" she said. 
 " We should have so much more freedom." 
 
 Clarke shivered. 
 
 "And," he added, "there is another rea- 
 son. In such a place there would be fewer 
 people coming and going, and less likelihood 
 of someone appearing who might be too 
 much interested in our affairs." 
 
 Louise accepted the suggestion with real 
 pleasure and no suspicion of special reasons, 
 and that day he engaged for her an apart- 
 ment on the west side of Central Park, 
 while he found rooms conveniently near. 
 
 Here they were as comfortable as could 
 be wished. Clarke came and went as he 
 pleased, and now and then they had a cosy 
 153
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 luncheon in her parlor. They made love 
 they talked about the children they had 
 pleasant rambles in the Park, and went to 
 various entertainments. 
 
 But Louise seemed always to turn from 
 any subject back to the Willoughby fortune 
 and the scheming Sharp. He could not 
 divert her thoughts from it. He told her she 
 was making too much of it, he begged her 
 to let the affair take its own course; but it 
 could not be banished, it seemed almost an 
 obsession with her. It was " all for the chil- 
 dren," and he tried to be patient, but at 
 times he wearied of it, and wished there had 
 been no Willoughby fortune. 
 
 Then he would, long before this, have 
 made her Mrs. Clarke and installed her as 
 mistress of Chester Clarke's home! 
 
 154
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 WHEN Clarke went back to Boston, 
 a day or two later, leaving Mrs. Wil- 
 loughby settled in this apartment, she told 
 him not to worry about her, she had shopping 
 to do and the time would pass pleasantly and 
 swiftly. 
 
 "I shall enjoy the hours, dear," she said 
 playfully, " as they pass, for each one that 
 goes by will be bringing our next meeting 
 nearer!" 
 
 He smiled. 
 
 " Supposing that you let me keep your 
 watch till you come next time," she added. 
 " It will answer a twofold purpose, to mark 
 the time, for mine is not running, and as a 
 security, a hostage, shall I say, of your early 
 return. You are always where you can see 
 a clock; I shall not be." 
 
 "Do you really mean it or are you 
 joking?" 
 
 " I really mean it. It would be very use- 
 ful to me when I am here in the apartment, 
 155
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 and particularly at night, to know the time. 
 You shall have it back when you return." 
 
 "You are to have this watch," he said, 
 " because it will be of service to you. If I 
 were to furnish an adequate pledge of my 
 return, it would be all that I possess, my life 
 itself." 
 
 When he did return, she handed back his 
 watch with the remark that hers was running 
 now. 
 
 The first time he opened it he looked into 
 the eyes of his beloved, for there photo- 
 graphed on the case was the most beautiful 
 picture that he had ever seen of her. 
 
 The next three week-ends Clarke spent in 
 flying trips to New York; and on the third 
 visit, Louise announced her readiness to re- 
 veal the Great Surprise. During the inter- 
 vening time she had mystified him contin- 
 ually. He was such a stupid guesser. He 
 guessed slowly, but guessed many things, 
 for she kept him at it relentlessly, seeming 
 never to tire of the sport. The more he 
 guessed, the further he got from the truth, 
 she told him, laughing ; and when he tried to 
 guess his way back, she said he was going in 
 circles. 
 
 Had Clarke and his Louise possessed a 
 156
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 love less simple, they would have had less of 
 love itself. Loving as they did, they loved 
 to play; were fortunate in having so much 
 time for it, and might have been unfortunate 
 if they had had more, since love grows by 
 fasting as well as by feeding. 
 
 Thus it was that Louise's little secret gave 
 them both so much pleasure. If she had 
 said, "My shopping, dear, is so much fun; 
 I am buying my trousseau," he would have 
 rejoiced with her. But he would have been 
 trying to rejoice with her! So she had used 
 all her woman's wiles to prepare him for a 
 spontaneous participation in her joy. 
 
 Not even when she took him into the 
 fashionable dressmaking establishment where 
 she had kept many appointments through 
 all the delightfully hard-working period of 
 successive fittings, did he, dense mind of 
 masculinity! perceive upon what throbbing 
 secret's threshold it was his privilege to 
 stand. She was tense with eagerness, and 
 his anticipation ran no farther than " a new 
 gown" just that, a new gown when 
 she was all athrill to have him see her go 
 through that last rite, the final fitting of her 
 wedding-gown! Who but a woman can 
 know the delights of that moment in a 
 157
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 woman's life? None so nearly as a lover; 
 and if Clarke was very much the lover 
 as he waited, in the room bright with many 
 mirrors, he was more the lover he was the 
 lover enraptured when at last, a queenly 
 figure in shimmering silk of softest gray, 
 she swept into the room, tremulously eager 
 for praise, blushing like a daughter of the 
 dawn. 
 
 Clarke gasped. His Louise was lovely, 
 but she was only woman. This was the 
 goddess the queen of goddesses. Sweet 
 hyperbole, not to be bruised with blows of 
 Apology! Clarke arose and stood feasting 
 his eyes. Never had she seemed quite so 
 lovely. The modiste had depended for her 
 effect upon the rich softness of the material 
 and the perfection of fit, rather than upon 
 the lesser art of trimming. 
 
 Louise stood turning slowly round, her 
 figure reflected in the mirrors, magically 
 multiplying unique perfection, and looking 
 at the images with an expression of such 
 innocent self -consciousness as may be seen 
 in children at their best. 
 
 " How do you like me now? " she asked at 
 length. 
 
 " I have n't words to begin the tale," said 
 158
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 Clarke. "It is wonderful! No human 
 being could look so lovely. It cannot be!" 
 
 "But it is!" she laughed, "and when I 
 put this on I shall be your wife." 
 
 With sudden transformation she ceased 
 to blaze, and quietly shone. Then, with 
 another of her swift transitions, she assumed 
 the air of a " practical " person. 
 
 ' You see, dear," she said, " I shall be 
 married in this dress but I have had it 
 made so that it will do also for a travelling 
 dress. It is to be sent to my apartment 
 today." 
 
 Madame, the chief, who stood by, had 
 been examining the gown critically, to see 
 that her assistants had left no flaw in the 
 lovely structure. When she perceived that 
 the gentleman was Mrs. Willoughby's fiance, 
 she was in her turn enraptured. 
 
 "Oh, la-la!" she cried, "so this is Mr. 
 Clarke. I am what you call done pr-r-roud! 
 And the gown is it not lovely? Ah, elle 
 est vraiment magnifique! Such a pleasure 
 to fit such a figure! " 
 
 She passed her hands reverently, lovingly, 
 over the soft, clinging material. Her sensi- 
 tive nature thrilled with the joy of the artist 
 displaying his art. " Tres chid" she ex- 
 159
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 claimed, quite unconscious of audience. 
 " Elle va comme un gant. Et I'etoffe- 
 c'est superb, elle a enormement de cachet." 
 
 She pronounced her judgments, one by 
 one. Then, turning to Clarke, she said: 
 
 " C' est un veritable plaisir d'habiller 
 Madame." 
 
 He assured her, in such terms as his re- 
 stricted masculine vocabulary afforded, of 
 his appreciation; and he went on to express 
 as adequately as he could the emotions 
 aroused in him by the further loveliness 
 which the delighted assistants, Lucille and 
 Babette, brought forth for his inspection; 
 two evening gowns, wonderful creations still 
 in intermediate stages of evolution and 
 several others, which left him an impression 
 that he could express no more definitely than 
 as a mass of filmy, lacy things whose pur- 
 chase must have effected the transfer of a 
 small fortune. 
 
 As they went back to the apartment, 
 Louise explained that she had been making 
 all these preparations so that there should 
 be no delay caused by the necessities of her 
 toilette after the obstacles in the way of their 
 marriage should have been removed. 
 
 And now the floodgates seemed to have 
 160
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 been opened, and from all the shops came 
 pouring streams that bore a treasure on 
 every wave. Millinery, lingerie, shoes, 
 gloves, came in packages of so many sizes 
 and shapes that Clarke could not for the 
 life of him see how they were ever to be 
 crowded into the little apartment, and felt 
 that the skill of all the geometers in history 
 could hardly devise a way to fit together 
 their polygonal intricacies. But one woman 
 has more wits than a hundred mathema- 
 ticians, and Louise solved the problem not 
 only with ease but with a delight which 
 to Clarke, at least proved positively that 
 this was not mere instinct but sheer inge- 
 nuity. The cubic contents of these packages, 
 he was sure, would aggregate not an inch 
 less than seven times that of the rooms ; and 
 where then was your Father of all the Ge- 
 ometers, with his axiom about the contained 
 and its container? Axiom, quotha! 
 
 This is all a part, and an important part, 
 of the history of Chester Clarke. They who 
 cannot read between the lines of this portion 
 of our chronicle are not meant to be students 
 of history. They will not appreciate the 
 insignificant item that follows: 
 
 The next evening, Sunday, just before 
 161
 
 it was time for Clarke to leave for the mid- 
 night train to Boston, Louise, now relaxed 
 and calm after the excitements of Saturday, 
 showed him a pearl gray tie and gloves 
 which she had bought for him ; they matched 
 the wonderful gown. And then, with a 
 wealth of tender words, she opened before 
 him a case holding a very beautiful scarf pin. 
 
 " That," she said, " is to be the gift of the 
 bride." 
 
 What wonderful quality is it in the light 
 of love that makes it cast no shadow? 
 
 162
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 EXTRAORDINARY pressure of busi- 
 ness made it impossible for Clarke to 
 get back to New York as soon as he would 
 have liked. He had been compelled to miss 
 a Sunday, and two weeks can be very much 
 more than twice as long as one week ! Again 
 the letters flew back and forth. One of them 
 tested again the understanding to which he 
 thought he had trained himself after Louise 
 had reported the incident, in Chicago, of 
 the railroad president who had followed his 
 box of flowers with an offer of marriage. 
 
 On one of his earlier visits to the apart- 
 ment, he had chanced to meet an old friend 
 of his, an army officer, veteran of many 
 campaigns, but coming out of his sixties re- 
 markably hale and hearty. Clarke had taken 
 him to the apartment to tea, and he had 
 been pleased by the old soldier's open ad- 
 miration of his hostess. Louise had presided 
 charmingly at the tea table, and had been 
 most gracious to the visitor. 
 163
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 On the Sunday of Clarke's absence, she 
 had had the General to dine with her, and 
 on Tuesday she had let him take her to the 
 theatre. 
 
 "It was so dull without you," she said; 
 "and besides, it was a real pleasure to be 
 able to entertain an old friend of yours. But 
 I was rather surprised when he held my hand 
 during the performance, and also when he 
 kissed me goodbye at my door, though 
 several of the people in the house happened 
 to be passing at the moment. I suppose it 
 was just his fatherly way of setting the 
 stamp of his approval on me." 
 
 Clarke did not indorse such approval, but 
 he refused to let his mind dwell on it. 
 
 Then on Friday, came a letter announcing 
 that she had found the apartment too dull, 
 and had moved to a hotel; "a thoroughly 
 high-class place, where I shall see more peo- 
 ple and life will be a little less dreary." 
 
 So Clarke decided that his most important 
 business for the next few days lay in New 
 York. He called at the hotel early Satur- 
 day afternoon, and they had a long talk. 
 Without excitement, or resentment, she told 
 him that the true cause of her latest move had 
 been an uneasiness resulting from a remark 
 164
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY" 
 
 overheard between two of the servants. 
 " Never mind what it was," she said; " it did 
 not amount to anything, and I suppose they 
 are talking that way all the time. What 
 really bothered me more than the words, 
 the only thing that made me pay any atten- 
 tion at all, was their evident embarrassment 
 when they realized that I had heard. In 
 fact, dear, I only half heard. But the in- 
 cident, small as it was, annoyed me just 
 enough to make me restless. Is n't it odd, 
 that among all these crowds, two people 
 should become the subjects of servants' 
 gossip ? " 
 
 " It is irritating," said Clarke. " It is as 
 though, just as soon as two people wanted to 
 be alone, somebody conspired deliberately 
 to make life miserable for them." 
 
 Sunday they took a trip to the Jersey 
 Shore. Clarke made the best of the rather 
 severely limited opportunities afforded by 
 the outing for those demonstrations of affec- 
 tion he craved as naturally as a hungry man 
 craves food. Returning, he left her at the 
 elevator, and went to another hotel for the 
 night. He was walking, now, as circum- 
 spectly as a man could walk. 
 
 But the winds of trouble had not ceased 
 165
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 to blow. Where there had been no more 
 than a breeze, the gale now leaped to life. 
 
 Monday morning Clarke spent downtown, 
 on business. 
 
 In the middle part of the afternoon, 
 through with business for that day, he went 
 to the hotel, and sent up his card. The mes- 
 senger brought back a sealed note. 
 
 " No answer," said Clarke, shortly, and the 
 boy walked away. 
 
 Clarke, off in a corner of the big room, 
 tore open the note and read it hastily. 
 
 " Dear one," she said, " I cannot come 
 down to see you. Something has happened. 
 Oh, please, come to me! L. W." 
 
 Flinging to the winds his good resolutions, 
 heeding nothing except that she had sum- 
 moned him, Clarke went up to her rooms. 
 
 She was standing in the middle of the 
 floor, evidently much agitated. She was 
 paler than he had ever seen her. 
 
 "My dear girl!" he cried, "what has 
 happened?" 
 
 She seemed to gain immediate assurance 
 from his presence. She grew calmer in man- 
 ner, and her voice sounded quite natural as 
 she said: 
 
 "Don't be frightened, Chester! Nothing 
 166
 
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 has happened to me " But the agitation 
 shown in her note had been too genuine to 
 disappear so suddenly and it was revealed in 
 her voice. There was a suggestion of tears. 
 
 " Louise," he said, and he took her in his 
 arms. " Tell me, what has frightened you? " 
 
 "It isn't that I am frightened it is 
 rather that I am worried anxious. This 
 is what happened. It may be much, it may 
 be little but it startled me. 
 
 " I went out for some violets at the flower 
 store on the corner, and when I came back, 
 just as I stood waiting for the elevator, I 
 caught sight, in the lobby, of that man! " 
 
 "Whatman?" 
 
 "John Sharp!" 
 
 Clarke was surprised. 
 
 "Are you sure?" 
 
 " Why, how could I possibly be mistaken? 
 I saw him as plain as I see you now." 
 
 "But there must be, in this big town, a 
 dozen men who look like Sharp enough 
 so, at least, to be mistaken for him in a pass- 
 ing glimpse like that." 
 
 "But I tell you, I was not mistaken! I 
 
 know John Sharp too well to be mistaken. 
 
 I felt him as well as saw him I could feel 
 
 his presence if he stood at the other side of 
 
 167
 
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 a great crowd from me. And, if it had been 
 someone else he would not have leered. I 
 saw him leer. He was looking straight my 
 way." 
 
 The cumulative argument could not be 
 overborne. 
 
 "Well, then," said Clarke, "taking the 
 worst possible view of it, John Sharp is in 
 New York he was in this hotel today 
 and he saw you. Now, supposing all that 
 to be true, what harm is there in it? " 
 
 "Oh, Chester, I cannot say what but 
 there is harm in everything that man does. 
 There is harm in his ascertaining anything 
 that might make him suspect that we are 
 engaged. Oh, he may be stopping in this 
 very house! I must move we must move 
 at once. I have been packing, ever since, 
 and am ready to go this minute, dear." 
 
 Clarke had never seen her so disturbed. 
 He tried to soothe her. 
 
 "I will go down to the office, at once, 
 and see if Sharp is registered here," he 
 volunteered. 
 
 " No," she exclaimed, " Oh, no! It would 
 
 do no good. If he has been here once, he is 
 
 likely to come again whether he is a regular 
 
 guest here or not. I should be afraid of 
 
 168
 
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 running into him every time I left my 
 rooms." 
 
 Clarke saw the force of this. He himself 
 would prefer not to have an encounter with 
 John Sharp. He was silent, thinking. 
 
 Louise was the first to speak. 
 
 " There is nothing else to do," she said. 
 " We must get out of this place, and at once. 
 You will go somewhere else, for my sake, 
 won't you, dear and for the children's 
 sake!" 
 
 She spoke the last words, not pleadingly, 
 but with an air of finality, as though she 
 knew he could not resist after that. 
 
 And he could not. He was more worried 
 than he would have been willing to have 
 her know. The position in which they were 
 placed had been brought about by conditions 
 which he not only had not sought, but which 
 he had accepted against the force of his own 
 positive convictions. As he had accepted the 
 secret engagement, so too had he accepted, 
 without reservation or qualification, the 
 necessity of these clandestine meetings. It 
 was all of a piece. 
 
 She had never appeared conscious that 
 their relations, pure and honorable as they 
 were, could be criticized or misjudged or 
 169
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 misunderstood. " A woman of so much ex- 
 perience?" the world might say, and shrug. 
 But he knew! It was only Sharp's appear- 
 ance that had excited her. She had gone 
 instantly to the core of the situation. If 
 Sharp should learn of her engagement, he 
 would take it straight to the old lady, and 
 she would never let a penny pass to her 
 grandchildren, owning a new father in place 
 of her idolized son. The children did not 
 need the money. Mr. Malsby would leave 
 his lesser but still substantial fortune to 
 Louise, and he, Clarke, could himself make 
 them comfortable. But they must not suffer 
 injustice at the hands of this scheming fel- 
 low, Sharp. 
 
 As to his own relations with Louise, he 
 knew that her honor could not be safer any- 
 where than with him; but what a twisting 
 thrust of life's irony-tipped spearhead, that 
 he, in whose safe-keeping she was best off, 
 should be made by a cruel world the very 
 instrument of possible misfortune to her! 
 
 From his own selfishly personal point of 
 view, this constant running away, this dodg- 
 ing, this duplicity, was abhorrent. 
 
 It took only a moment to marshal these 
 considerations in his mind. 
 170
 
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 " Where shall we go? " he said. " If you 
 hadn't pleaded the children's interest, I 
 should much prefer to stay right here. 
 Probably we have seen the last of Sharp; 
 but if not, we can stand a showdown with 
 him. We have nothing to fear. If he ever 
 said a derogatory word about you, I 'd 
 thrash him." 
 
 " I know. But all other considerations 
 vanish before the children's interest. For 
 their sake, you will do what I ask! " 
 
 "Very well! You know that with me 
 that means for your sake. But where 
 where where? Do you happen to know," 
 he asked, turning half whimsical, "of any 
 retreat where the wicked cease from trou- 
 bling and the weary are at rest? If you do, 
 I '11 wager it is not in New York! " 
 
 " Oh, but it is! " she cried; " it really is! " 
 
 She had been thinking hard, and had ap- 
 parently viewed her way clear at last through 
 the difficulty. 
 
 "At least," she amended, "there is a 
 pretty good chance of our finding it here. 
 Please, dear, hand me the telephone book!" 
 
 Radiant with hopefulness, she sought out 
 the number of their paradise. 
 
 171
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 LOUISE turned the pages of the tele- 
 phone book a moment, then, with a 
 little cry of pleasure, she looked up. 
 
 "I have found it!" she said. "'Hans 
 Giese, Violins.* How it does bring back old 
 times to see that name once more!" 
 
 " But who is this Hans? " 
 
 "Why, of course you never heard of 
 the old darling, did you? It seems as if we 
 must always have known the same people, 
 doesn't it, dear?" 
 
 'Yes until someone like this crops up. 
 Hans was ? " 
 
 " He was a dealer in violins. He sold me 
 one when I was studying in New York. I 
 had a fine friendship with old Hans and his 
 wife. I used often to visit with them. He 
 was a Belgian. He played beautifully 
 had a wonderful method of bowing he 
 gave me some excellent points. They were 
 devoted to me. That was quite a few years 
 ago. I wonder if they are both still living. 
 Let 's call them up." 
 
 172
 
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 She took the phone, and Clarke stood with 
 his head resting lightly against hers in order 
 to hear the whole conversation. 
 
 A woman's voice came over the wire; an 
 old and feeble voice. 
 
 "Who is it?" asked Louise. 
 
 "I am Mrs. Giese." 
 
 "Oh, how do you do, Mrs. Giese! Do 
 you know me, do you recognize my voice? 
 I am Louise Malsby. Do you remember 
 me?" 
 
 "Why, my dear child! Of course I re- 
 member you. Where are you? How kind 
 of you to think of me, such an old woman as 
 I am now." 
 
 " I am not Miss Malsby any more, Mrs. 
 Giese, I am Mrs. Willoughby now." 
 
 "Well, well! How everything does 
 change." 
 
 " And how is Mr. Giese? " 
 
 " Oh, he is dead. He died five or six years 
 ago, but I still keep the name board by the 
 door. People who have been away from 
 town often come in, and ask to see Hans." 
 
 "Then you are all alone?" 
 
 'Yes, all alone with the old fiddles. 
 There is not another soul here in this apart- 
 ment. It is just as it was when you were 
 173
 
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 here, just as it was when he died. I've 
 always kept everything just the same." 
 
 "Well, Mrs. Giese, I wanted to ask a 
 favor. I wanted to ask if you could take me 
 in for oh, perhaps a few days and a 
 friend who is here with me, a gentleman. 
 I have a special reason for asking it." 
 
 Mrs. Giese was silent a moment. 
 
 "Well," she said, "I haven't any help, 
 there isn't anyone to do for you; there 
 is almost nothing to eat the beds, they 
 haven't been made for years. It is all the 
 same just the same as it was when he 
 died. I wanted to keep everything just as 
 my Hans left it." 
 
 " Oh, my dear old friend! If you 're will- 
 ing to take us in, all that won't make a bit 
 of difference to us ! " 
 
 "When would you want to come?" 
 
 " Right away, Mrs. Giese. We would be 
 there in half an hour or so." 
 
 A moment's silence, then the old lady said : 
 
 "Well, I suppose he would! He was 
 very fond of you. And you can see his 
 things just as they are. I never changed 
 anything, they are all just as they were 
 when he died just the same." 
 
 She spoke in a monotone, as though the 
 174
 
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 words might have been running in her mind 
 through the years, ever since she had first 
 taken the well-kept resolve to have "the 
 things " remain "just as they were, just the 
 same." 
 
 "All right, then," said Louise; "we'll be 
 with you in a little while," and she hung up 
 the receiver. 
 
 " Now for a four-wheeler," said Clarke, 
 " and let 's get out of here." 
 
 " But, dear! we can't carry all this luggage 
 in one cab ! " 
 
 "Well, then," said Clarke, "two! Any- 
 thing, to get moving." 
 
 And two cabs it was. 
 
 "The retreat from Moscow," he said; 
 "only, Napoleon didn't bother with lug- 
 gage, while we have impedimenta enough for 
 an army." 
 
 She smiled brightly up into his face, and 
 placed a hand affectionately on his arm. 
 Her anxiety seemed to have vanished the 
 moment they left the hotel. She seemed as 
 happy as a child on a holiday. 
 
 They drew up in front of what, from its 
 looks, must have been one of the oldest of 
 Gotham's cave dwellings. 
 
 "This must be the original apartment 
 175
 
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 house of them all," Clarke remarked, good- 
 naturedly. 
 
 "It was here before people spoke of 
 apartment houses, dear," she said. " It 's 
 what they call in New York a flat house." 
 
 On a small board beside the window in 
 the first floor, over the basement, were the 
 remains of some lettering that once had 
 shone resplendent in fresh gilt paint. From 
 the parts of the letters that remained, Clarke 
 could decipher the inscription: 
 
 HANS GIESE 
 
 Violins 
 
 Bought, Sold, and 
 Repaired 
 
 " How familiar it all looks," said Louise. 
 " Only a little more decayed, a little dingier. 
 I used to come here quite often. They were 
 such quaint, nice people. They fascinated 
 me, and they liked me. It was a pleasure 
 to give them pleasure, they appreciated 
 every little kindness so thoroughly." 
 
 Mrs. Giese opened the door and ushered 
 
 them in. She was all aquiver ; partly, Clarke 
 
 guessed, from embarrassment but more with 
 
 excitement at seeing once again her "dear 
 
 176
 
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 Miss Louise," of whom she was evidently 
 fond, with a fluttery, grandmotherly sort of 
 affection. " Fluttery " seemed the right 
 word, for the little old lady was birdlike in 
 the way she held her head and the way her 
 eyes were cocked at one when she spoke. 
 Sometimes, too, she twittered; rather more 
 like a shrill voiced sparrow than a songbird, 
 but never with bad humor. There was some- 
 thing pathetic in the appearance of her 
 shrivelled old face. She had been living 
 alone since Hans died, living in memory of 
 him. A grotesque fancy struck Clarke that 
 she was Giese's monument; a monument 
 animated just enough to attend to the one 
 duty of " keeping the things the same just 
 the same." 
 
 " Come in, Mrs. Willoughby," she said. 
 " Come right in, Mr. Willoughby." 
 
 This might have been embarrassing; but 
 the lovers did not permit it. 
 
 "This is Mr. Clarke, Mrs. Giese," said 
 Louise. 
 
 "Dear me I do beg your pardon. But 
 I thought you said your name was Mrs. 
 Willoughby, Miss Malsby." 
 
 'Yes, it is. My husband, too, died; and 
 this is Mr. Clarke?' 
 
 177
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 The old lady's mind was not alert enough 
 to grapple with problems; she simply ac- 
 cepted facts. Whatever her dear Miss 
 Malsby, or Mrs. Willoughby, told her, was 
 surely a fact, so this gentleman must be Mr. 
 Clarke. It was a little strange, but she did 
 not stop to puzzle it out. Mrs. Willough- 
 by's Mr. Clarke was not to be challenged 
 by her. So, while Clarke carried in the 
 luggage the driver, in consideration of a 
 generous tip, helping with the heavier pieces 
 she stood chatting with Louise. When all 
 the boxes and bundles had been brought in, 
 she showed her guests the rooms. And what 
 rooms ! 
 
 The apartment, or "flat," cut straight 
 through the house from front to rear. Only 
 the parlor at the front and the kitchen and 
 dining room at the back had outside win- 
 dows. The bedrooms were hall rooms, dark 
 and dismal. 
 
 The front room was large, and had been 
 turned into a veritable curio shop. Here 
 were relics of foreign antiquity; cabinets, 
 images, pictures, statuettes, books, all in 
 promiscuous disorder. In every corner two 
 or three violins were stacked. There was 
 the musty smell of old leather, and the less 
 178
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 pleasant odor of dank walls in an unaired 
 room. If the spirit of Hans Giese dwelt 
 here, Clarke thought, among the possessions 
 he had prized, it must be a gloomy spirit. 
 Yet in the dim light that filtered through 
 the shaded windows, with something like the 
 softness of the subdued illumination of a 
 cathedral nave, the old objects of virtu took 
 on a certain air of dignity, rather enhanced 
 than diminished by their jackets of dust. 
 
 " Now," said Mrs. Giese, " the next room 
 is mine, and the next two shall be yours." 
 
 "Come, Chester," said Louise, "let's 
 move in ! I '11 take the room next to Mrs. 
 Giese's and you shall have the other." 
 
 "And as soon as we're settled," said 
 Clarke, "I mean to take you both out to 
 dinner." 
 
 " She looks as though she might not have 
 had a good square meal since Hans died," 
 he said to Louise, when they were alone for 
 a moment. 
 
 " The poor old dear ! " Louise's eyes were 
 bright as though a swiftly passing tear had 
 filmed them. 
 
 " I suppose she 's been too busy keeping 
 things 'just the same' to think about eat- 
 ing. Did you notice the marks in the dust 
 179
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 on the telephone? I don't suppose she has 
 two calls a year." 
 
 So they took the old lady out to dinner, 
 and it was good to see her respond to the 
 stimulus of changed surroundings. To 
 Clarke it had seemed almost incredible that 
 a human being could settle down to so me- 
 chanical a routine of existence. It reassured 
 him pleasantly, to see her perk up, once they 
 got her into the brilliant dining room. But 
 she soon tired of the lights and the confused 
 sounds, and while she thanked them rather 
 prettily for their kindness, it was plain 
 enough that she was glad to be home again 
 keeping things just the same. 
 
 The two women made up the beds. Mrs. 
 Giese retired, and Louise came into the 
 parlor, where Clarke had made himself as 
 comfortable as he could, and was enjoying 
 a cigar. 
 
 He had been thinking, and as soon as 
 Louise came in, he said: 
 
 " My dear girl, this is impossible simply 
 impossible! We cannot stay in such an old 
 rat hole as this. Why, there aren't even the 
 necessaries, to say nothing of the comforts 
 of life. This mouldy old place isn't fit to 
 live in the old fashioned closed plumbing 
 180
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 is a positive menace to health: why, I can 
 almost see malaria germs crawling on the 
 walls, and if you listen, you '11 hear the foot- 
 falls of Old Man Roomatiz. Seriously, dear, 
 this isn't right it won't do at all." 
 
 " I think it 's funny," said Louise. " I 
 don't think I could stand it long, myself, 
 but for a while, it 's larks. And there 's one 
 good thing about it, you must admit, that 
 makes up for a lot of the discomforts 
 John Sharp won't come here!" 
 
 That allusion opened the way out for the 
 thoughts that had been accumulating, and 
 Clarke let them come. 
 
 " My dear girl," he said, " our situation is 
 simply impossible. I am shunning my 
 friends, and living in dread of exposing you 
 to criticism. I cannot bear to think of hav- 
 ing you compromised, as they call it ; and I 
 could not live I could only exist, with no 
 reason for even existing, away from you. 
 It is my place to protect you, dear not to 
 endanger your reputation!" 
 
 He rose, and paced the floor. 
 
 " Now, Louise," he went on, " let 's have 
 
 it out, once for all! We have begun with a 
 
 secret engagement why not go just one 
 
 little step further, and make it a secret 
 
 181
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 marriage? I don't like secret marriages 
 much more than I do secret engagements - 
 but it will at least make us more comfortable. 
 We can announce it just as soon as the will 
 is signed. It is only changing the date, an- 
 ticipating what we are already committed 
 to. It will put me in my proper place as 
 your protector, and it will not affect the 
 interests of the children." 
 
 He stopped pacing, turned squarely 
 toward her, and said, with an air of deter- 
 mination that halted just short of des- 
 peration : 
 
 " Louise, will you marry me now, and put 
 an end to all this needless anxiety?" 
 
 Smiling softly, she too stood up, and 
 moving over to where he stood waiting, she 
 placed a hand on each of his square shoul- 
 ders and said, with the sweet serenity of a 
 June day: 
 
 " My dear, I did not dream you were so 
 seriously concerned about this. You never 
 said a word, never gave a sign of it. I could 
 not let you be unhappy, if it were in my 
 power to make you happy I love you too 
 much for that! Of course I '11 agree to the 
 secret marriage. I 'm wholly in favor of it, 
 I think it would be the happiest sort of a 
 182
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 solution. And," she finished, rippling with 
 smiles, " I am so anxious to wear that beau- 
 tiful wedding gown! " 
 
 'You dear girl," Clarke cried; and they 
 sealed the bargain with a kiss, in the only 
 fashion fit for such a contract. 
 
 183
 
 CHAPTER VH 
 
 LARKE had urged his argument with 
 all the earnestness of a man battling 
 for his life. He had supposed it necessary 
 to batter down the walls of a resisting will ; 
 at least, in gentler terms, it had seemed a 
 matter of course that he would have to 
 answer, one by one, all the arguments con- 
 trary to his that a woman's wit could mus- 
 ter. He had been ready for a long, and 
 possibly even painful debate. But he had 
 thought the thing out, he had arrived at the 
 one conclusion that seemed to him inevitable; 
 and he meant to have his way, for he knew it 
 to be the best way, for her as well as for 
 himself. 
 
 And then, she had calmly ignored his 
 carefully thought out and well presented 
 arguments; had gone straight to the core 
 of the matter, and, without a moment's 
 hesitation over details, had settled the whole 
 thing in a word. And how sweet a word! 
 
 Her quick, favorable and affectionate 
 response had cleared the clouds away. It 
 might have made him, the powerful pleader, 
 184
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 feel rather foolish, like a general of artillery 
 who has been pounding at a dummy battery, 
 had not joy over the successful issue of his 
 attempt wiped out all lesser emotions. 
 
 And her reply had given him another 
 revelation of her character. It was a jewel 
 of many facets. In none of them had he 
 ever detected a flaw. She was consistently 
 inconsistent, but in every phase delightful. 
 The emotion of the moment was her supreme 
 guide; but fortunately her education, her 
 experience, with the firm depths of her 
 character to base them, gave her a constancy 
 not the less charming because of the chang- 
 ing surfaces she showed. 
 
 Specifically, Clarke thought that her ac- 
 ceptance of his proposal evidenced a breadth 
 of understanding and a depth of feeling 
 which would lead her always to brush aside 
 or ignore technicalities. The whole thing 
 stood foursquare and immovable upon the 
 broad and solid foundation of their mutual 
 confidence and love. 
 
 The reaction in him had been instan- 
 taneous. His misgivings had disappeared. 
 The promptings of his heart had supplanted 
 the promptings of his mind. He was a very 
 happy man. And he had told her, drawing 
 185
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 her to him, " you are the dearest and best of 
 women. You are the most wonderful thing 
 that ever happened." 
 
 Then she had asked for his plan in detail, 
 and he had been ready with his answer: 
 
 He would wire to his office in Boston, 
 saying that he would not be home for a 
 week or ten days. They would convert the 
 Old Curiosity Shop into a chapel, and there 
 they would exchange their vows, and go 
 forth man and wife. They would have 
 their wedding breakfast, and then the honey- 
 moon. 
 
 "Does my plan meet with your ap- 
 proval?" he had asked. 
 
 " Perfectly," she had answered; and then, 
 "of what will our wedding ceremony con- 
 sist?" she had asked. "Does it call for a 
 rehearsal?" 
 
 " No," he had answered. " I will tell you 
 what to say when the time comes, if you 
 need any more prompting than your own 
 heart gives. I am to take you as my wedded 
 wife, and you are to take me as your wedded 
 husband, for better or for worse till death 
 do us part ; and I am to give you a ring as a 
 token of our union. We shall be married in 
 the sight of God and man as surely as if we 
 186
 
 met at the altar and had a priest perform 
 his office, and then marched down the broad 
 aisle to Mendelssohn's music. The audience, 
 no doubt, will shower us with congratula- 
 tions, roses and rice." 
 
 "The audience?" 
 
 "Mrs. Giese!" 
 
 "The poor old thing, what will she 
 think?" 
 
 "Think! Why, she will be greatly flat- 
 tered to think that she has been the guest of 
 honor at so brilliant a function. The only 
 question is, Can she be depended upon to 
 keep the secret for a few weeks ? " 
 
 " I am sure of it, dear. And then " 
 
 " And then we shall have the public cere- 
 mony. Do you suppose I would plan to 
 rob you of that one greatest hour in a 
 woman's life? No, dear I could not be 
 so heartless ! " 
 
 " Father is looking forward to that, too. 
 And you need not worry about Mrs. Giese's 
 keeping the secret. She is devoted to me. 
 You saw how she clung to me tonight. I 
 think she would give up her soul for my 
 sake if I asked her to. Besides, what op- 
 portunity has she to tell anyone? The poor 
 dear does n't see anyone, from year's end to 
 187
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 year's end, but the tradespeople who supply 
 her little wants." 
 
 Their plans all made for the morrow 
 the momentous morrow they had parted. 
 
 And so now, as Chester Clarke awoke, his 
 first thought was that the Holy Day had 
 come. He stood upon the highest peak of 
 his life. This day his eager soul was to 
 claim its mate. Among the numberless 
 atoms of humanity, these two had been 
 brought together to answer some new pur- 
 pose in the universal scheme. Joy and re- 
 sponsibility ripened together. The boughs 
 of his tree of happiness hung heavy with 
 fruit, ripe for the plucking. He was happy, 
 ineffably happy; and he rejoiced in the sense 
 of solemnity that seemed hovering about 
 him, for the ceremony would be truly a 
 sacrament in the sight of God. 
 
 Before the others were astir, he visited a 
 neighboring florist's and returned with a 
 great box of flowers. There were red roses 
 to stand in the vases, and cream white buds 
 to be carried by the bride. 
 
 After a light breakfast, he hurried down 
 
 town, bought railroad tickets, wired for 
 
 rooms at an inn in the Catskills where he 
 
 had planned their sojourn, and bought the 
 
 188
 
 wedding ring, a circle of gold studded with 
 diamonds. 
 
 Hurrying back to the apartment, he found 
 that Louise had, with deft touches, trans- 
 formed the musty old front room into the 
 satisfying semblance of a chapel. Mrs. 
 Giese had given proof of her affection by 
 permitting the more obtrusive pieces of 
 furniture to be temporarily moved out. 
 With the help of certain draperies cleverly 
 placed, the upright piano at one end of the 
 room had become an altar. Two candles 
 burned upon it. In front of it Louise had 
 set a small stand, supporting a Bible. The 
 flowers had been placed with fine artistic 
 skill. All was ready, and Louise had gone 
 to her room to dress. The hour drew near. 
 
 To Clarke, as he changed his clothes, the 
 putting on of the tie, pin and gloves that she 
 had given him was in itself a ceremony. 
 
 As the old clock in the hall struck twelve, 
 Louise came from her room, looking lovely 
 beyond words in the gray gown, and a hat 
 also of gray. 
 
 With her came Mrs. Giese, wearing a 
 
 marvellous dress made in the fashion of a 
 
 bygone generation a wine colored silk, 
 
 with a broad collar of old lace, rich and rare 
 
 189
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 enough to be esteemed a prize by any lady 
 in the land. She was all in a flutter with 
 excitement, but too deeply impressed with 
 the importance of the occasion to relax one 
 iota the rigid self-control to which she had 
 committed herself. 
 
 And so, the final step was to be taken. 
 The room was very quiet. In the dim light, 
 unmarked presences seemed hovering near, 
 as Clarke, taking Louise by the hand, es- 
 corted her to the altar, where they faced 
 about and stood side by side. 
 
 Placing one hand on the Bible, he said, in 
 clear, vibrant tones : 
 
 "Louise, I take you to be my wedded 
 wife, to love, cherish and protect. And, in 
 token of our union, I give you this ring," 
 and he slipped the ring upon her finger. 
 
 Then she in turn, placing her hand upon 
 the Bible as he had done, said, with accents 
 wonderfully low but sweet and clear as a 
 note from one of old Hans's beloved in- 
 struments : 
 
 " Chester, I take you to be my husband, 
 to love and to serve. And I accept your 
 ring in token of our union." 
 
 Then she whispered : " May I repeat the 
 Lord's Prayer?" and so, standing hand 
 190
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 in hand, they repeated the noble words 
 together. 
 
 Clarke, placing his two hands on either 
 side of her head, kissed her on the forehead ; 
 and it was over. 
 
 Mrs. Giese smothered them with her con- 
 gratulations, and with much joy and laugh- 
 ter they entered the waiting carriage, and 
 were borne away to the j oiliest little wedding 
 breakfast that ever was. 
 
 Afterward, as they stood waiting for the 
 carriage in which they were to ride to the 
 station, they appeared so well set up, so 
 well groomed, so prosperous and happy, 
 that not a few of the passersby turned for a 
 second glance; and one was overheard to 
 say to a companion: "Look! Isn't that a 
 stunning couple!" 
 
 "They are looking at you, dear," said 
 Clarke, proudly. 
 
 " It was your compliment as much as 
 mine," she insisted, laughing and blushing 
 like a schoolgirl. 
 
 " It was for both of us," he said with a 
 tone of finality: " for are not we twain one, 
 now and evermore, before God and man?" 
 
 And he heaved a deep sigh of masculine 
 satisfaction. 
 
 191
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 LARKE had selected for their autumn 
 honeymoon the White Horse Inn, a 
 famous hotel in the Cat skills, much pat- 
 ronized at that season of the year. It was 
 with quiet elation that, for the first time, 
 he signed the register: "Mr. and Mrs. 
 Chester Clarke." There was something 
 sacramental in the prosaic act, a jewel of a 
 great moment in the plainest of settings. 
 
 Hard by the hotel stood the Episcopal 
 Church, built in memory of a soldier of the 
 Revolution. There they went the next 
 morning. It was Communion Sunday. A 
 sense of utter peace came to Clarke as the 
 service proceeded. The music flooded his 
 soul like sunlight, and the sunlight filtering 
 through the softly stained windows seemed 
 to turn to music. Louise and he were very 
 close together in that holy hour. 
 
 After the service she went to the chancel, 
 
 and, kneeling, took communion. Never had 
 
 the forms of ceremonial religion seemed to 
 
 Clarke so justified, so far removed from 
 
 192
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 need of justification. Never had faith and 
 reason seemed to flow so harmoniously in 
 one deep channel of the spirit's life. Doc- 
 trines such as transubstantiation fell 
 away. There remained only the beautiful 
 symbolism of an act wherein the dross 
 of human nature was momentarily non- 
 existent, and only the pure gold of faith 
 and joy remained. When Louise returned 
 to him, there was a light in her eyes that 
 revealed to him the hitherto unplumbed 
 depths of her spiritual nature. She was on 
 the heights. An air of glory shone round 
 about them. He had not the philosophy at 
 that moment of exaltation to ponder the 
 value of the fact that he, who had not taken 
 part in the ritual, shared the rapture equally 
 with her who had. His whole being was one 
 ethereal lake of love, and love laughs at 
 philosophy. He drank his cup of joy to the 
 last drop. He was intoxicated. The world 
 was one thing, he and this divine woman 
 were another. They were one: and the 
 blessed hyperbole of love compressed the 
 history, nature and purpose of all the uni- 
 verse into this one solar fact. 
 
 That same afternoon after a cosy cup of 
 tea, they went out to see the sun set and 
 193
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 the night come in. There would be people 
 moving about, so Clarke said: 
 
 "Let us go to the summer house on the 
 hill at the back of the hotel. It is not likely 
 that anyone will be there. The view is 
 splendid, and we can have a quiet time en- 
 joying it. But you must take a warm wrap, 
 for it will be chilly before we come in." 
 
 They climbed the hill path. It was quite 
 steep, with logs set in for steps at some of 
 the harder places. They went slowly, and 
 without looking back, for he wished to save 
 the view for her to get in all its magnificence 
 at once. 
 
 It was worth saving. At the top of the 
 ascent stood an open pavilion, with shutters 
 which could be regulated to suit the weather. 
 It surmounted a long ridge of land, with 
 parallel valleys on either side. Beyond them 
 as they entered it lay higher ranges, reflect- 
 ing the last flowing colors of the sunset ; the 
 windows of a house on the hillside flashed 
 golden fire. Then as they turned to look 
 back in the direction from which they had 
 come, they stood silent, drinking in the 
 beauties of the scene. 
 
 The sky was not ablaze, as in summer 
 sunsets, but was painted in pastel tints, pale 
 194
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 green, lavender, pink of the most delicate 
 shade, an opalescent harmony of what seemed 
 to them notes of music made visible. The 
 earth lay still and listened. Brown woods, 
 brown fields, brown roads winding through the 
 peaceful landscape, all silent, all wrapped 
 in the brooding spirit of vesper prayer. 
 A dog barked across the valley a mile away. 
 A wagon rattled down the stony hill road. 
 The sounds passed, and the silence seemed 
 deeper than before. It had been a warm 
 season, and the chirping of field insects was 
 on the air ; not the strident chorus of earlier 
 months, but a subdued music that fitted with 
 the subdued tone of nature's autumn hymn. 
 Reverently the newly married pair stood 
 there, watching the flow of one more day's 
 time rill into the vast, mysterious ocean of 
 eternity. Louise drew close to her husband. 
 Her head rested against his shoulder, his 
 arm was about her. It seemed as though 
 one heartbeat did for both, as if one breath 
 held their two lives in unison. Their fates 
 were one, now and forever; the joy of each 
 making glad the other, and each grieving 
 for the other's hurts. Through life and on 
 into eternity, they were shipmates for the 
 voyage. For weal or woe, one single lot was 
 195
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 theirs. They had passed from fellowship 
 to true community. 
 
 As the colors faded from the western sky, 
 they turned to watch the succeeding glory 
 of the moonrise. Clarke helped Louise ad- 
 just the wrap about her shoulders, and lower- 
 ing the shutter behind them to shield her 
 from the breeze that began to move mys- 
 teriously in the night veiled valley, they 
 sat and waited. There was the suggestion 
 of light against the black sky line, traced 
 by the contour of the hills and fringed with 
 trees. When the full moon rose majestically 
 above the horizon Clarke quoted Whittier: 
 
 " From gold to gray 
 Our long sweet day 
 Of Indian Summer fades too soon ; 
 But tenderly 
 Above the sea 
 
 Hangs, white and calm, the hunter's 
 moon." 
 
 " It is very, very beautiful," Louise said. 
 ; ' Very beautiful ; and what a suggestion of 
 eternity of eternal peace there is in a 
 breathless night at the rising of the full 
 moon! How long has Mother Earth worn 
 that same jewel shining at her breast?" 
 196
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 "Who can say? The geologists perhaps 
 but we have not invited them to visit us 
 tonight. This night belongs to the spirit. 
 
 " I have never been afraid of the dark," he 
 continued. " Even as a child I liked it. I 
 used to lie in bed and look out at the stars. 
 Did you ever notice how much individual 
 character they have? 
 
 " Once, the first year that I was in pre- 
 paratory school, a dear friend of mine was 
 very ill. She had been my house mistress in 
 school. She was a friend to all the boys, but 
 somehow she and I seemed always to be 
 special friends. She had known my dear 
 mother, who had died not long before, and 
 she tried, I think, to take her place. 
 
 "Well, she was not expected to live. I 
 called every day she lived some miles out 
 in the country, but they would not let me 
 see her. They said she had been so changed 
 that I would not be able to control myself. 
 One day I stood in the hall, talking to her 
 mother. The old lady was pretty deaf, and 
 I had to raise my voice. The nurse came 
 down, and said, 'Miss Sarah heard Master 
 Chester's voice, and she has asked to see him.' 
 So they decided to have me go up to her 
 room for a moment. When I saw her, I 
 197
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 knew it would be the last time I should ever 
 see her alive. She smiled at me. I held her 
 hand a moment, stooped over, kissed her 
 poor, withered cheek, and went out, unable 
 to say a word. 
 
 " She lived several weeks longer. I used 
 to lie in bed, looking out at a certain star 
 that seemed to me to be mounting guard 
 over the house where she lay. When it 
 twinkled brightly, I thought, 'Miss Sarah 
 is having a good night,' and when it seemed 
 feeble and uncertain, I knew it was going 
 hard with her. 
 
 " Then one night the star shone briefly, 
 and disappeared. Miss Sarah died that 
 night. It was not imagination. That star 
 really did not shine that night. It was her 
 star." 
 
 They were silent a moment, then Louise 
 said: 
 
 " That is a beautiful story, Chester ! Some 
 folks would scoff at it, but I believe it. And 
 most people would call it a sad story, but I 
 think it a very sweet and cheering one. It 
 helps to prove what I have always said, that 
 we are bound closer than we realize to the 
 mysteries of nature, and that at night we are 
 nearer to God than at any other time." 
 198
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 'Yes, dearest, we are. And you and I 
 are living very near to Him now. He has 
 been very good to us." 
 
 " He was good to give you to me," she 
 said, resting one hand lightly on his knee, 
 and looking into his face. 
 
 " And," he said, " God has given me the 
 best that life can hold, in sending you to me. 
 I feel that some unseen force was drawing 
 us together through the years that you 
 were meant for me, and I for you." 
 
 Clarke would have been more or less than 
 human if the thought of her earlier marriage 
 had never oppressed him, but he had refused 
 to let it dwell in his mind. And Louise 
 never said a word that made it necessary for 
 him to choose between mentioning the topic 
 and openly avoiding it. To her it was ap- 
 parently a sealed chapter in the book of her 
 life. Her children were not a memorial of 
 it, they were simply part of her. 
 
 So she said, " Yes, dear ; and I am so 
 happy, now that we belong to each other 
 forevermore. I shall be glad when we can 
 announce our marriage, and solemnize it 
 publicly. My dear father will be so pleased, 
 and it will be so much better for Ernest and 
 Alice." 
 
 199
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 "Alice made me very happy, the dear 
 child, with her letter. Do you not think she 
 will be a strong ally, in trying to win Ernest 
 over to the idea of our marriage without 
 letting him know it is anybody's suggestion 
 but his own?" 
 
 " It will help, but of course I have cau- 
 tioned her. We shall have to go slowly with 
 Ernest. Life has been most kind to me, 
 dear giving me such children, and such a 
 husband." 
 
 "It is a tremendous responsibility, Lou- 
 ise," he said. "You may be sure I ap- 
 preciate it, and it shall be my constant en- 
 deavor, in every thought, every word, every 
 act, to measure up to it. I would make any 
 sacrifice, any sacrifice for your sake. Much 
 has been given to me, and much shall be re- 
 quired of me. But these are the responsi- 
 bilities that bring with them strength for 
 the performance of all the duties they im- 
 pose, and I have no fear." 
 
 " Nor have I," she said. " We are strong, 
 both of us ; we have an important mission to 
 perform, for the future of those two young 
 souls is in our hands, to be moulded by our 
 wisdom. We need to be very, very wise, 
 Chester!" 
 
 200
 
 JHE UNKNOWN QUANTITY] 
 
 "Never fear love will point the way," 
 he exclaimed. "I feel perfectly confident 
 that things will soon be settled as we wish 
 to have them. We shall have our public 
 wedding, that wretched business of the will 
 must soon be ended, your father and mother 
 will be happy in their new home and you 
 and I, you and I with the children in ours! " 
 
 Another silence fell ; one of those intervals 
 when vocal communication became inade- 
 quate and wordless communion took its 
 place. Then : 
 
 " Chester," she said, " you may think it 
 foolish no, I don't think you will I'm 
 sure you won't." 
 
 She paused. 
 
 "What, dear one?" he asked. "I can 
 promise you before I know what it is that 
 I won't think it foolish. Nothing that you 
 think or say is foolish to me." 
 
 "Only this, sweetheart: God has been so 
 kind to us that we must do something to 
 give expression to our gratitude. It is not 
 enough to sing a psalm of thanks, we must 
 actually do something to prove that we are 
 grateful." 
 
 " Splendid! and what shall it be? " 
 
 " Well," she said, " the only way to prove 
 201
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 our gratitude is to do something that will 
 give lasting expression to our thanks. I 
 want to take some of my money and endow 
 some form of useful charity something 
 that will be so useful that no one will think 
 of it as charity, something that will shine 
 into the lives of people as naturally and 
 freely as the sunlight." 
 
 " That is a beautiful idea, and I am more 
 proud of you than ever." 
 
 " Then you are willing? " she asked. 
 
 " Willing? " he repeated, " more than will- 
 ing anxious, envious because the idea is 
 yours and not a bit mine." 
 
 "No, it shall be ours!" 
 
 " I shall make it so, dear, as far as I can, 
 by contributing as much as I am able toward 
 financing it. Have you decided what form 
 it shall take?" 
 
 " Not definitely, but I think I should like, 
 of all things, to bring music into the lives 
 of those who hear so little of it " 
 
 " The very thing! " he cried. " Tomorrow 
 we shall plan it, and take the first steps. 
 
 "And now," he said, "it is getting late, 
 and dinner is waiting. Come, we must 
 scamper down." 
 
 And, standing a moment hand in hand, 
 202
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 with a prayer in their hearts, they went 
 back to the house happy husband and 
 wife, still, like the poet's "happy maiden 
 and lover, dreaming the old dream over." 
 Life was at high tide for Chester Clarke. 
 
 203
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 WEEKS flew by, and it was time to 
 plan for Christmas. The children 
 were to have two weeks vacation from school, 
 and Chester and Louise determined to de- 
 vote their time particularly to them. It was 
 decided that she should bring them on to 
 Boston for a visit of four or five days, since 
 they had never seen the city; then Clarke 
 was to go with them all to Washington, 
 where he would leave Mrs. Willoughby and 
 Alice, while he and Ernest went South for 
 the quail shooting. 
 
 Ernest greeted the proposal enthusiasti- 
 cally. Mr. Clarke was going to help him 
 select a gun his first gun and whatever 
 else in the way of equipment might be needed 
 to fit him for the field. 
 
 Clarke met them at the Huntington Ave- 
 nue station. He was certain that no hap- 
 pier party than his could have been found in 
 all the throng of arriving travellers or the 
 friends who welcomed them. Alice was the 
 first to see him. She ran forward and threw 
 herself into his arms. He caught her up, 
 and kissed her. The other greetings were 
 204
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 less effusive but far from formal. They 
 were witnessed with interest by a friend of 
 Clarke's who had ridden in the same car 
 with "the very stunning widow" and her 
 children. He spoke of her in that way to 
 Clarke the next day; and this was the be- 
 ginning of a new phase of Clarke's love- 
 history. 
 
 At all times and under all circumstances 
 Clarke had been on his guard lest a word, or 
 an expression of his face, might betray the 
 secret or cause comment or speculation. 
 Having agreed to play the game, he was 
 determined to abide by its rules in every 
 detail. It had been far from easy, but he 
 had never wavered or faltered in his purpose. 
 
 Louise had not been quite so steadfast. 
 By word and act she was continually ex- 
 citing curiosity or interest that filled him 
 with apprehension. If "protective colora- 
 tion " was difficult for him, it was almost a 
 complete impossibility for her. And yet it 
 was on her behalf that the plan of conceal- 
 ment had been adopted. Clarke had had 
 some anxious moments, but they were as 
 nothing beside the test to which he was at 
 present subjected. 
 
 He was now in the country of his own 
 205
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 people, and at every turn they met friends 
 or acquaintances of his. That they would 
 admire the lady was inevitable. That they 
 would be curious was natural. That the 
 questions would be more or less embarrass- 
 ing was a foregone conclusion. That Louise 
 would help him through his difficulties, or 
 even perceive their existence, was unlikely. 
 When she was not completely oblivious to 
 this aspect of the situation, she was actually 
 enjoying it. She craved attention. She 
 did not calculate consequences. 
 
 He dined with Louise and the children on 
 the night of their arrival. The same sense of 
 pride and satisfaction came over him that 
 had been his in Toronto. Now, however, it 
 was intensified by the constant conscious- 
 ness of the new relationship. How he would 
 have liked to let the world know that this 
 beautiful woman was his wife! 
 
 He recognized and bowed to several per- 
 sons at nearby tables. Were they curious? 
 If so, they derived no satisfaction from 
 Chester Clarke's conduct! He maintained 
 exactly that deportment which would have 
 been his had Mrs. Willoughby been, let us 
 say, his brother's wife come to town for a 
 visit. 
 
 206
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 Louise might, however, have furnished a 
 clue for the guidance of the curious. There 
 was nothing of the sister-in-law about the 
 way in which, unconsciously and therefore 
 the more obviously, her eyes would rest upon 
 him. Nor was there any in-law about the 
 manner of her taking his arm, afterward, in 
 the street. The way she drew close to him, 
 the way she looked up into his face, was 
 certainly quite enough to suggest, at least, 
 that there was something more than the 
 platonic Idea of affection between them. 
 
 Her costuming increased the difficulty. 
 She dressed, in Boston, just as she would 
 have dressed in New York ; and the oriole is 
 bound to be conspicuous, among the neat 
 little brown wrens. In New York she was 
 in competition with an extravagance of style 
 unknown in the Capital of Puritania. The 
 cultured ladies of Boston dress, for the 
 street, in a fashion proverbial for its mod- 
 esty. The ladies of Boston society reserve 
 their indulgence in costly and brilliant ap- 
 parel for Grand Opera, select functions, or 
 the privacy of their own homes. Louise 
 coruscated in public. 
 
 One evening, when they were going to the 
 theatre, Louise consulted Clarke upon the 
 207
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 choice of a gown; should she wear the less 
 conspicuous one, or the one of bolder cut 
 and color, that Clarke recalled had attracted 
 attention when she had worn it in New 
 York? 
 
 Ever anxious to avoid publicity that might 
 imperil the execution of their compact, 
 Clarke declared in favor of the less showy 
 garment. He assumed that she would un- 
 derstand his reason and endorse his decision ; 
 but he saw that he had piqued her. Quick 
 to find justification for her every whim, he 
 told himself he must not accuse her of failing 
 to understand him and his motives : she had, 
 perhaps, thought that he held her guilty of a 
 desire to bask in public attention, when 
 actually her one wish had been to make as 
 brilliant a showing as possible for his sake, 
 as her escort. 
 
 Thus it came about that on all occasions 
 and from all sides came the questionings of 
 his friends. "Who was the pretty lady I 
 saw you with this morning?" asked a mem- 
 ber of the Kickers Club, as the set he 
 lunched with called itself. " That was a 
 peach of a girl you had with you last night," 
 remarked one of his office associates. Even 
 the learned Judge of the Motion Session 
 208
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY: 
 
 of the Court, who had known him as a con- 
 firmed bachelor, took occasion, when he 
 stepped up to the bench to present an ex 
 parte matter, to whisper Mr. Weller's word 
 of caution: "Beware of the vidders, Sami- 
 vel." As for his women friends, they went 
 almost to the limit of politeness in besieg- 
 ing him with questions about the beautiful 
 woman who was so much in his company. 
 
 On several occasions he had to introduce 
 her, but the conversation never got any fur- 
 ther than that she had come on from her 
 home in the West for a few days in Boston. 
 Taking care that it stopped there, he was in- 
 wardly aflame with desire to have it go 
 further, and reveal the whole truth. 
 
 One thing, however, in their relations at 
 this time was ideal, and won his unqualified 
 approval. That was her attitude toward his 
 relatives and the two or three close personal 
 friends to whom, upon his return from 
 Topeka, he had made known the fact of his 
 engagement. 
 
 They drove out to Brookline one after- 
 noon, so that she might be presented to 
 Clarke's sister and aunt. The two ladies 
 lived in an apartment, small but adequate 
 to their limited needs. 
 209
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 Louise carried roses to them, and she 
 kissed the ladies, each in turn, with a warmth 
 of affection that went far toward establish- 
 ing her in their favor. The conquest was 
 complete when she assured them that she 
 did not intend to take Chester away from 
 them, but only begged them to admit her, as 
 a new member, to the family group. 
 
 Chester and Louise stayed for tea, and 
 " Sister Gertie " showed Louise the family 
 heirlooms. She also greatly admired the 
 portrait of Chester's mother done by Sar- 
 gent, and remarked how much he resembled 
 her. Even the old family album was 
 brought out, and with much laughter on the 
 part of the ladies and many unavailing pro- 
 tests by Clarke, a series of pictures of him 
 from the tender age of two on to his latest 
 photograph was shown and variously com- 
 mented upon. 
 
 Clarke was in high spirits when they re- 
 turned to town, for he felt that his choice 
 of a wife had received the unqualified ap- 
 proval of his own kin. 
 
 Clarke and Louise set apart one of the 
 
 afternoons when the children had gone to a 
 
 matinee to the delightful task of locating 
 
 their new home. Clarke had selected two or 
 
 210
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 three sites upon which Louise was to pass 
 judgment. 
 
 They finally agreed upon a location on 
 Beacon Street with a view over the Charles 
 River basin into the setting sun. On this 
 drive they discussed many details of their 
 future domestic affairs, and Louise ex- 
 pressed a desire to retain her old servants 
 and livery. 
 
 There was but one incident that marred 
 this happy time for Clarke. He had pre- 
 sented one of his friends to Louise, in the 
 parlors of her hotel. They had had a jolly 
 conversation in which it was discovered that 
 they had several friends in common. It 
 chanced that Clarke was called away that 
 afternoon, and he had sent word to Louise 
 that he would not be able to see her till the 
 following day. 
 
 Then, on the morning of the day before 
 Christmas, he had taken Ernest down town 
 with him to be fitted to a gun. Alice went 
 with them, for the walk. By chance refer- 
 ence in the children's talk, Clarke learned 
 that their mother had had dinner with his 
 friend on the night of his absence. Even if 
 he could have brought himself to speak to 
 her about it, he knew from past experience 
 211
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 that her reply would have been: " Of course, 
 you perfectly understand! " 
 
 He had heard that expression from her 
 many times, and many times he had read it 
 in her letters. She had invariably used it 
 when, as in this case, he did not at all 
 " understand." 
 
 How did it happen that neither his friend 
 nor his wife had mentioned the incident? 
 There was only one explanation he could 
 accept : it simply had happened that neither 
 of them had thought to mention it. 
 
 They had selected the location where they 
 were to live and decided upon the livery of 
 their servants. Clarke had given the chil- 
 dren a good time. He had taken Ernest to 
 see Harvard, and had shown them both 
 Bunker Hill, Faneuil Hall, and the Old 
 State House. They had been to a matinee 
 at the Colonial and to Keith's. They had 
 taken lunch at the Market Place and at his 
 club. For Christmas, he had given Ernest 
 a game bag, and Alice a necklace of coral 
 beads. On Christmas Day they had en- 
 joyed a skating party at Jamaica Pond. 
 
 It had been a happy week with only the 
 one little blemish; and now it was time for 
 the journey South. 
 
 212
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 THE train from the North with Chester 
 Clarke and Ernest aboard pulled into 
 the station at Henderson, North Carolina, 
 at four o'clock in the afternoon. Mrs. Wil- 
 loughby and Alice had left it at Washington, 
 where they would await the return of the 
 hunting party. 
 
 This was Ernest's first experience of the 
 South, and Clarke pointed out the objects 
 of interest as they journeyed along. They 
 had a glimpse of Libby Prison and of the 
 defences about Petersburg, through which 
 the Union Army had broken on that mem- 
 orable Sunday morning, the news of which 
 reached Jefferson Davis in church and 
 caused the evacuation of Richmond. 
 
 Then the road ran through a rolling coun- 
 try in which forests of long leaf pine gave 
 way to cotton and cornfields, surrounding a 
 mansion house and dotted here and there by 
 log cabins the homes of the black man. 
 
 All of this was new and strange to the 
 Western lad. It was to him like journeying 
 into a far country. 
 
 213
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 They found Ralph Gray waiting for them 
 with a " hitch " a pair of horses and a two 
 seated wagon that had seen better days 
 and stowing their baggage under the seats 
 they were off. 
 
 It was a fifteen-mile drive to Williams- 
 burg, which before the war had been known 
 as the garden spot of North Carolina. The 
 roads were very heavy, crossing at times 
 running streams where the water rose nearly 
 to the axles, and it was seven o'clock when 
 they turned into the driveway that led to 
 Captain Gray's house. 
 
 Soon lights appeared in the windows of a 
 large mansion house, and the barking of 
 dogs heralded their approach. 
 
 The Captain was at the paling when the 
 team came to a stop. Clarke jumped out 
 and grasped his hand. He was a tall, lank 
 man, with a broad forehead, and a deep scar 
 in his cheek where a minie ball had entered. 
 His left arm hung nearly useless at his side. 
 He was a graduate of the University of 
 Virginia and still read his classics. Clarke 
 had hunted on the Captain's plantation a 
 number of seasons and was a welcome visitor. 
 
 The family consisted of the Captain, his 
 wife, and son, Ralph, a man of Clarke's age. 
 214
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 "This is the young man I wrote you 
 about, Captain. Ernest, this is Captain 
 Gray." 
 
 " I am glad to see you," said the Captain, 
 " very glad to welcome you to my home." 
 
 The party entered the house through a 
 door that the Captain boasted was never 
 shut, followed by two or three dogs and as 
 many negroes, in possession of the baggage. 
 
 Ernest was presented to Mrs. Gray a 
 gentlewoman, as he saw at a glance. Then 
 they were shown to their room, a large 
 square one, with two huge beds standing 
 side by side, against the wall. Pieces of 
 furniture in various stages of dilapidation 
 were placed about the room. A fire blazed 
 on the hearth. 
 
 In a few moments they had removed the 
 stains of travel, and were seated at the 
 dining room table, to which the Captain had 
 escorted them with dignified courtesy. There 
 was a moment's silence while he said grace, 
 and then he bade Clarke and Ernest fall to, 
 since they must be famished after their long 
 drive in the keen winter air. 
 
 And what a table! It groaned with 
 plenty. There were at least four varieties 
 of pork chine and jowl and spareribs, and 
 215
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 sausage meat ; there were beaten biscuit and 
 corn pone; there were home-made condi- 
 ments and relishes; there were preserved 
 peaches and several kinds of cake, with 
 steaming coffee in big cups, and there were 
 the Captain and his wife to insist upon their 
 taking another helping. 
 
 When they could eat no more, the party 
 repaired to the living room and gathered 
 about the roaring fire to smoke their pipes 
 and plan for the morrow's campaign. Jess 
 was called in consultation, a negro so black 
 that when he made his appearance it was 
 the Captain's little joke to say that a shower 
 must be coming up, it had grown dark so 
 suddenly. 
 
 What with the long drive, the substantial 
 supper and the warmth of the room, Clarke 
 and Ernest soon found themselves nodding, 
 and were off to bed under the escort of Jess, 
 who went up to see that they had everything 
 to make them comfortable. 
 
 After a breakfast as satisfying as the sup- 
 per had been, Clarke and Ernest, with Ralph 
 as escort, mounted their horses and rode out 
 of the yard to the joyful barks of the setters, 
 Dan and Dandy. 
 
 Broad fields of corn stubble, defined by 
 216
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 Virginia rail fences, stretched away to 
 "branches" dense with trees and bushes. 
 Through these, the horses moved abreast 
 while the dogs circled ahead, their noses to 
 the ground and with a glance back now and 
 then for a wave of the hand from Ralph. In 
 less than five minutes the quick swish of 
 Dan's tail and his cautious advance in one 
 direction indicated that he had found game. 
 He moved forward twenty feet and came to 
 a point, his tail straight out, one fore paw 
 raised. Working in from another angle 
 Dandy "honored" his point, and the two 
 stood motionless. 
 
 " They have found them," said Ralph, and 
 the three, throwing the bridle rein over their 
 horses' heads, slipped to the ground and ad- 
 vanced behind the dogs, Clarke and Ernest 
 loading as they did so. 
 
 While Ralph spoke a word of caution to 
 the dogs, Clarke stationed Ernest well to 
 the front, with brief instructions as to how 
 to hold his gun and aim when the birds 
 went up, and not to fire too soon. 
 
 There was a quick, sharp whir of many 
 
 wings and the covey rose. The almost 
 
 instantaneous discharge of Clarke's and 
 
 Ernest's guns followed; one bird dropped. 
 
 217
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 Ernest dashed forward and, catching it up, 
 turned with an expression of triumphant 
 joy in his face. He had not heard Clarke'^ 
 gun and he was sure he had killed his birq. 
 Clarke glanced at Ralph as much as to say, 
 don't question it, and the two congratulated 
 the delighted boy. 
 
 The birds had flown into the branch, and 
 after the dogs had found three singles, two 
 of which Clarke killed, they remounted their 
 horses and moved on. 
 
 The hunt continued until late in the after- 
 noon with an intermission for luncheon. In 
 the afternoon Ralph joined in the shooting. 
 They flushed a dozen coveys during the day, 
 and out of this number Ernest claimed three 
 birds, while Clarke and Ralph each had a 
 good bag. 
 
 They were back at the house in time 
 to clean their guns and wash up before 
 supper. 
 
 The two days following were much like 
 the first, and Ernest had ten birds to his 
 credit which he carefully preserved to take 
 back to his mother. 
 
 On the last evening of their stay they 
 were gathered round the open fire. From 
 a stone trough on the table, the men replen- 
 218
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 ished their pipes from time to time, with 
 the " bright " tobacco grown on the planta- 
 tion. Clarke turned the conversation on the 
 Civil War; he was manoeuvring for the 
 benefit of Ernest, who had been eager to 
 hear how the Captain came by his wounds. 
 
 "You were on Stonewall Jackson's staff?" 
 he said. 
 
 " Yes," replied the Captain, " I was with 
 him the night he was killed. We had been 
 moving into a position where we could strike 
 the Yankee flank in the morning. We would 
 have rolled them up and captured the whole 
 army. It was providential for the Union 
 cause that Jackson was killed. As a good 
 Presbyterian, I am bound to believe that his 
 death was foreordained." 
 
 "How was your arm hurt?" Ernest 
 ventured to ask. 
 
 "That was in defending a bridge. The 
 Yankees got in behind us. I ordered my 
 men to scatter and each one take care of 
 himself. 
 
 " I ran for a clump of bushes. A trooper 
 emptied his revolver at me, called out for 
 me to surrender, but I kept on ; then he rode 
 alongside of me, struck me across the arm 
 with his sabre and took me prisoner. I got 
 219
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 this wound in my face reconnoitring a 
 sharpshooter caught me. That is only one 
 of the fortunes of war. The bullet came out 
 of the back of my neck. General John B. 
 Gordon was wounded in exactly the same 
 way. We were fighting Chamberlain and 
 the 20th Maine at the time. Oh, there was 
 a soldier for you ! No more splendid officer, 
 no more chivalrous gentleman crossed the 
 Potomac during the war. He was sans peur 
 et sans reproche. We Rebels, as they called 
 us then, have reason to revere his memory. 
 General Chamberlain's salute of honor to 
 the Confederate army laying down its arms 
 at Appomattox was sublime ! It will be his 
 enduring memorial." 
 
 "Did you own slaves?" asked Ernest. 
 
 "Oh, yes. I had many. We treated 
 them well and as a rule they were contented, 
 I might say happy. We used to go up to 
 Raleigh year after year, and take our ac- 
 customed seats in the legislature. Here we 
 passed such laws as we regarded essential 
 to the institution of slavery. 
 
 "We sold a slave or two now and then 
 
 when we wanted a holiday at Long Branch 
 
 or White Sulphur, or a trip to Europe. A 
 
 good house-bred slave was worth two thou- 
 
 220
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 sand dollars and up. Field hands sold for 
 one thousand or so. The Abolitionists of 
 New England used to raise a holler but we 
 never thought for an instant that the artisans 
 of the north would dare come down here and 
 attack our sovereign State. 
 
 " I once rode up to my neighbor's door. 
 The slave who came to lead my horse away 
 was his son. I saw the father's look in 
 the boy's face; it was unmistakable. That 
 sickened me. I favored freeing them after 
 that." 
 
 "But you fought in the war," interposed 
 Clarke. ' 
 
 " Of course I did I went with my State 
 when it seceded. That was my duty. We 
 had the Constitution on our side. Why, I 
 am told that one of the authorized books in 
 use at West Point when Robert E. Lee 
 was a cadet there, national institution though 
 it was, recognized the right of secession. 
 
 "I am glad, however, that we lost out. 
 As you look back, you can see that it had 
 got to come. 
 
 "I don't know that it ever occurred to 
 you," he continued, turning to Clarke, " but 
 as I look at it, it was a mere matter of his- 
 tory repeating itself. 
 
 221
 
 "When the Normans invaded England, 
 the Saxons under Harold went down before 
 them. That was the first encounter between 
 two irreconcilable forces, and the man in 
 armor won. They met again in Cromwell's 
 time the Cavalier and the Roundhead, 
 and this time the Roundhead had the better 
 of the argument. 
 
 " The third and last time it was the Puri- 
 tan of New England against the Cavalier 
 of Virginia, and you won once for all. There 
 was no place in modern civilization for the 
 man on horseback. I do not mean, of course, 
 that every man on the one side or the other 
 was Puritan or Cavalier, I mean only 
 that the dominant spirit was the one or the 
 other." 
 
 ' Yes, but your Virginian was* an Ameri- 
 can. He was a lover of liberty," interposed 
 Clarke. 
 
 " True, he was a lover of liberty liberty 
 for his own class but he was not a lover of 
 democracy. He was skilled in statecraft, 
 a born orator, and he made a superb soldier. 
 He was generous, hospitable, brave that 
 is the best that can be said of him. He was 
 not a scholar, he was not a philanthropist, he 
 was not a theologian. He was not a poet. 
 222
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 He was not a scientist. He was not a musi- 
 cian. He had no inventive genius. He was 
 not a business man. Can you imagine a Lee 
 selling anything over a counter? No, the 
 type of man that dominated the South was a 
 back number, out of harmony with democ- 
 racy. He had got to go. I am one of them 
 and my generation cannot be made over. 
 Like the Indians we can read our doom in the 
 setting sun. The next generation may do 
 better." He paused as if reflecting, and the 
 conversation took another turn with the old 
 soldier's next remark. 
 
 'You may think I am a poor man," he 
 said, laughing, " but I am not. I am rich. 
 I can prove it to you," and turning* to an 
 old desk he drew out a bundle of papers. 
 " I put all my money into Confederate 
 securities. I was sure we would win. Here 
 they are." 
 
 "How much?" asked Clarke, looking 
 them over. 
 
 " About one hundred thousand dollars." 
 
 Ralph' had taken down his banjo and 
 begun to tune and strum it. He sang sev- 
 eral negro melodies in good voice. Then he 
 struck into a song with the refrain, " When 
 the war came and ruined my beautiful 
 223
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 Southern home." When he finished no one 
 broke the silence. 
 
 Clarke sat a little back from the group. 
 A flickering light from the fire played upon 
 the sturdy form of the Captain, enhanced 
 the sweet dignity of his wife's face, illumi- 
 nated the ebony skin of the black man 
 crouched in the chimney corner. It picked 
 out the bare patches on the wall where the 
 plaster had fallen off and glinted on cracked 
 windowpanes. 
 
 Clarke felt a lump rising in his throat. 
 He stood up and, noting the lateness of the 
 hour, broke up the party. 
 
 In their bedroom, Ernest, who had been 
 deeply impressed by the evening's conversa- 
 tion, exclaimed: 
 
 "What a wonderful man Captain Gray 
 is!" 
 
 'Yes," answered Clarke, "these South- 
 erners were wonderful men. They fought 
 to the last ditch for the cause that they be- 
 lieved to be right. Their valor is one of the 
 best American traditions. They came back 
 to their devastated homes and no man has 
 ever heard them whimper. Their wonderful 
 pride of family and race has saved them 
 from the fate that would have overtaken 
 224
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 them if they hadn't possessed it. The com- 
 ing generations will make good. If mate- 
 rialism ever gets the better of our national 
 ideals, these men will be heard from. They 
 will see that the Republic suffers no harm. 
 When you marry pick out a Southern girl." 
 
 225
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 R1LPH took Clarke and Ernest the 
 next morning to the station. They 
 were returning by a different route. It was 
 an eighteen-mile drive. The train was re- 
 ported over an hour late, so at the urgent 
 solicitation of Clarke, Ralph had started on 
 his way home without awaiting its arrival. 
 
 Clarke and Ernest sat down in the small 
 waiting room, which was vacant, with their 
 baggage and guns beside them. Ernest 
 carried the precious quail in the game bag 
 slung from his shoulder. Clarke had taken 
 a book from his satchel, and was reading, 
 when a man entered the room and sat down 
 opposite them. After a few minutes he 
 said, " Have you been hunting, gentlemen? " 
 Thinking that the question was one of polite 
 inquiry as one might pass the time of day, 
 Clarke replied, " Yes, sir, we have been quail 
 hunting for the last three days." 
 " Did you kill any game? " 
 " Oh, yes, we had very fair success." 
 Then after a pause the man inquired, 
 "May I see your license?" 
 226
 
 " What license? " asked Clarke, beginning 
 to sense that something was back of this 
 questioning. 
 
 ' Your license to shoot game in this State." 
 
 " I have no license. I never heard that 
 one was required. I have been hunting on 
 Captain Gray's estate as his guest," and he 
 resumed his reading as if to close the con- 
 versation. 
 
 But the Southerner was not to be shaken 
 off so easily. " If you gentlemen have no 
 licenses, I must put you under arrest and 
 take you before the magistrate or lodge you 
 in jail." 
 
 Clarke saw that the situation was des- 
 perate. Not to consider his own plight, or 
 reasons for returning North by this train, 
 what would Louise think of his fitness to be 
 a father to her darling boy if he landed him 
 in jail the first time he took him from her 
 sight ? 
 
 "Who are you, anyway?" asked Clarke, 
 " and what is this about the license? " 
 
 " I am the State Game Warden. If you 
 have any doubt about it, here are my papers. 
 Nobody can shoot in this State without a 
 license." 
 
 "Where can we get a license?" 
 227
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 "They cost ten dollars and fifty cents 
 apiece, and you get them at the County 
 Clerk's office." He paused as if thinking. 
 "I reckon I could take your money and 
 send them to you." 
 
 " Well," said Clarke, beginning to see a 
 solution of the situation, "supposing you 
 take our money and give us a receipt. I 
 shall, of course, inquire into the matter. If 
 it is all right you will hear nothing further 
 from me." 
 
 The two men walked into the office of the 
 station agent, and sitting at a table, Clarke 
 wrote on a telegraph blank: "Received of 
 Chester Clarke of Boston and Ernest Wil- 
 loughby of Topeka, ten dollars and fifty 
 cents each, total twenty-one dollars, in pay- 
 ment of two licenses to hunt in the State of 
 North Carolina for the season of 19 " 
 
 As he was writing this, the game warden 
 said to the station master, " That young 
 feller's game bag ought to be searched. I 
 believe he is carrying game out of the State." 
 
 Clarke affected not to hear this remark 
 and, hurrying through the transaction, 
 handed over the money as the game warden 
 signed the receipt. 
 
 " Now," said Clarke briskly, placing the 
 228
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 receipt in his pocketbook, "as we have ad- 
 justed our matters satisfactorily, I will bid 
 you good day," and he returned to the wait- 
 ing room and to Ernest with the remark of 
 the warden still in his ears. What did it 
 mean? He had not long to wait, before he 
 found out, for he saw the game warden come 
 out of the " Grocery and Notions " store, 
 standing hard by, in company with two men. 
 He left them at the platform of the station 
 and, walking toward Ernest, but addressing 
 his remark rather to Clarke, said in a per- 
 emptory tone and manner, " I believe that 
 boy has quail in that bag, and I am going to 
 search it. There is a heavy penalty for 
 carrying game out of this State." 
 
 It seemed to Clarke almost as if he could 
 hear the ten quail in the bag calling as if 
 he could see their feathers protruding from 
 the bag. Once the warden's hand touched 
 it, and in a very literal sense the game would 
 be up. Ernest would be under arrest 
 with who could say what results. Clarke 
 thought quickly and acted more quickly still. 
 He knew that the quail in the game bag and 
 a ticket for Washington in the hands of the 
 boy waiting for a train that would cross the 
 frontier into Virginia before making a stop, 
 229
 
 would warrant an arrest and conviction. 
 He knew also that to interfere with an officer 
 in the discharge of his duty was a State's 
 prison offence. 
 
 On the other hand, while it was perfectly 
 evident that there was something in the bag, 
 the officer did not know that it was game. 
 He only inferred so. It might be ammuni- 
 tion or any one of a dozen things. If he 
 made the arrest on suspicion alone and 
 found no game, he would be in the wrong 
 and liable for any consequences that might 
 follow. Would he insist upon searching the 
 bag? There was a chance that he would not 
 if Clarke interposed, and as this was the 
 only chance to save the boy, he took it. 
 
 Stepping in front of the advancing officer 
 he said: 
 
 " Stop a moment. You and I have made 
 one arrangement, and that ought to cover 
 this matter. You claimed that we were 
 liable to arrest for hunting without a license. 
 I accepted your interpretation of the situa- 
 tion and put up my money, and I was led 
 to believe that the incident was closed 
 that we were free to go on our way. 
 
 " Now, I don't know the text of your law, 
 but I am a lawyer myself, and I do know 
 230
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 that there is no law in North Carolina or 
 anywhere else in this United States that 
 will authorize you to search that bag. You 
 have n't any warrant and the boy is n't under 
 arrest. You can't search a person, Mr. 
 Officer, who is not under arrest, and if you 
 attempt it in this case, I shall resist you." 
 
 Ernest looked at the two men in awe and 
 alarm. They stood facing one another less 
 than two feet apart. There was resolution 
 in the eye of each and a tense shut of their 
 j aws. They were about the same age, height 
 and weight. 
 
 Ernest saw the butt of the officer's re- 
 volver protruding from his hip pocket and 
 he wondered if he would draw it. 
 
 Two factors probably settled the matter 
 without any bloodshed, or jail sentence; one 
 was that it was incumbent upon the warden 
 to make the first move, the other that he 
 faced a man who was, as he realized, his 
 intellectual and social superior. 
 
 A certain dominating force in the man 
 before him raised a doubt in his mind, and 
 hesitating, he was lost. 
 
 " Very well," he said, after a long silence, 
 "if you will admit that you have hunted 
 game in this State so that I am not called 
 231
 
 upon to prove it in case you make any 
 trouble about the license, I '11 let the matter 
 drop." 
 
 " I have already admitted that, and I will 
 repeat it again in the presence of your wit- 
 nesses call them in." 
 
 The warden did so. 
 
 "Gentlemen," said Clarke, as the men 
 lined up beside the officer, " I am prepared to 
 state in your presence that this young man 
 and I have been hunting quail for the last 
 three days on Captain Gray's plantation 
 and have killed some birds." 
 
 The party then filed out and as their de- 
 parting footsteps died away, Clarke won- 
 dered if he had seen the last of them. He 
 was painfully conscious of the birds in that 
 bag and was greatly relieved when the train 
 at last arrived that took them safely across 
 the frontier into Virginia. 
 
 In closing the account of this adventure 
 to his mother, Ernest said: 
 
 "After I saw Mr. Clarke facing that 
 officer, I began to think that you needed 
 someone bigger than I am to fight your 
 battles, and if Mr. Clarke wants to marry 
 you, as I think he does, I won't find any 
 fault." 
 
 232
 
 PART THREE
 
 PART THREE 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 THE day that saw the departure of 
 Louise for the West marked the be- 
 ginning of a new and most important era 
 in Chester Clarke's life. Louise had had 
 the anticipation of new adventures to sus- 
 tain her at the moment of parting; he had 
 nothing to look forward to in the immediate 
 future but the dreariness of separation. She 
 would be seeing new places and people, and 
 doing things spiced with the pleasant flavor 
 of novelty. He would be living the old life, 
 the life he had lived before he had met her. 
 The only difference would be that as he 
 went about, on business or on pleasure bent, 
 he would be conscious every moment of the 
 new and unrelaxing desire for a particular 
 companionship. In the city's crowded 
 streets, he would be a lonely man. Sur- 
 rounded by friends, he would have none with 
 whom he might share his disappointment 
 and his hopes. True, it was not for long, 
 235
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 but lonely people do not measure time as 
 others do. 
 
 Knowing that time would drag if he 
 counted the hours, he laid out a stiff course 
 of work, and kept himself at it with the most 
 intense application of which he was capable. 
 This was not entirely as an anodyne; he had 
 lost some ground in his practice, with all this 
 running about the country. There were 
 arrears of work to be made up, and certainly 
 he had now an imperatively practical reason 
 for pursuing the policy of intensive cultiva- 
 tion in his professional preserve. Always a 
 hard worker, he now worked harder than 
 ever, striving steadily toward the one clearly 
 defined objective of professional advance- 
 ment. He was determined to rise as high 
 as his powers of mind would carry him in 
 the scale of professional standing. Money 
 was not his goal, but reputation. He was 
 moving all the time, and all his motion was 
 progressive. It was now all for The Family, 
 and he dreamed of the home that they were 
 to establish. 
 
 Louise had been gone a month, and Clarke 
 
 was taking stock of things. He sat alone 
 
 in his rooms, with a small stack of letters 
 
 spread out before him. They told the story; 
 
 236
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 of the past four weeks. First, there had 
 come the letter telling of her safe arrival. 
 She and Alice, whom she had taken with 
 her, had reached the Coast just in time to 
 get acquainted with the new house and re- 
 acquainted with the old folks, as Louise ex- 
 pressed it, and to rest from the journey 
 before the day of that great and joyous 
 event, the house-warming, to which she had 
 been summoned. She wrote about the house : 
 
 "You will remember that when I wrote 
 you from Topeka, after your visit there, I 
 was not very much interested in the new 
 house. I referred to you many of the ques- 
 tions that Father and Mother were asking 
 from day to day, but my own thoughts were 
 fixed upon the home in the East that would 
 some day soon be ours yours and mine, 
 and the children's. Of course, my interest 
 in that is still great, because the time is 
 drawing nearer when the dream shall be 
 realized. But now that I am here, in the 
 midst of things, it is only natural that it 
 should mean a great deal more to me than it 
 could possibly have meant before. And I 
 know you will enjoy hearing about it. 
 
 "The house is just a short distance out- 
 side the city, in a most beautiful region. It 
 237
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 is in a colony of wealthy people, who have 
 the loveliest homes you could imagine. We 
 have wide grounds, to which the landscape 
 gardener has devoted his finest art the art 
 which consists in taking nature's hints for 
 the development of the site, and just adding 
 here and there the last, finishing touch which 
 nature seems somehow or other to have over- 
 looked. The plantation has been arranged 
 in such a way as to give the finest views, on 
 one side over the bay, and on the other, 
 toward the highlands. It is a place fit for a 
 royal family, and I feel like a queen." 
 
 She went on to describe their new manner 
 of life with a wealth of detail which threw a 
 brilliant illumination upon another letter 
 which came, a day or two later, from Mr. 
 Malsby. 
 
 " My dear Son-to-be," he wrote, " I wish 
 you were out here with us. It's great. 
 We're living like kings. I've put just 
 about everything into this. This house- 
 warming is going to smash all records. I 'm 
 having my fling late, but it's going to be 
 an all-fired good one. My friend, Senator 
 Hooper, off of whom I bought this property, 
 is giving us a boost that puts us way up top. 
 He 's taken this housewarming business for 
 238
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 his own job, all I got to do is foot the bills, 
 and the bigger they come the better I like it. 
 He 's taken a great shine to Louise, he says 
 she ought to be It out here, and it won't 
 be his fault if she doesn't have the whole 
 Coast at her feet in no time. He has all 
 kinds of influence, and if anybody can bring 
 it about, he 's the boy. You better leave 
 Boston to take care of itself for a while, and 
 you come out here and enjoy life, with us. 
 You 'd think Louise was a different woman, 
 she 's so happy and gay. Everybody admires 
 her already, and I can see she is going to be 
 a great favorite, Queen of the Coast. She 
 will make a big hit when the Big Day comes. 
 You ought to be mighty proud, my boy, to 
 be engaged to such a woman." 
 
 Here Clarke paused in his reperusal of 
 the correspondence. " Queen of the Coast " ? 
 The vulgar phrase disturbed him just as it 
 had when the letter arrived. He meant to 
 be generous, and rejoice in his wife's tri- 
 umphs. Nothing could have been surer than 
 that she would win them. He did not be- 
 grudge her any of the pleasures that life in 
 these soft surroundings must bring to a per- 
 son of her character and tastes. He could 
 not be jealous of her admirers, three thou- 
 239
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 sand miles away! He could only, as they 
 had done in the first happy days of their 
 love, "trust and be true." Be true? He 
 could not have been otherwise if he had tried. 
 His life had been utterly changed by her 
 entry into it, and it must henceforth follow 
 a course quite beyond any controlling power 
 of his. That was the simple fact. As for 
 trusting anything else would have been 
 a denial of his own judgment in taking her 
 for his wife; it would have been unjust to 
 her, and unworthy of himself. When he 
 had plighted his own troth, he stood ready 
 to keep it in the face of death or any of the 
 powers of life. And where he had placed 
 his trust, he expected, as a matter of course, 
 a similar unswerving loyalty. 
 
 But and this was the end of the argu- 
 ment in his mind this was not a natural 
 situation. He and she belonged together. 
 Nothing should have been allowed to come 
 between them not the severing miles of 
 space, not the companionship of others, 
 however pleasant and safe. People live in 
 the presence of an enemy, and there is risk 
 enough of disaster without giving him added 
 opportunity to indulge his hostile inclina- 
 tions. We must guard our treasures, with 
 240
 
 unrelaxing vigilance, in this world of un- 
 avoidable exposure to hazard. He ought to 
 have insisted on her staying with him. Would 
 it have availed? She had an imperious will. 
 The wish of the moment was her supreme 
 guide. She could not brook dictation. To 
 command her was impossible, even to per- 
 suade her was almost so and not because 
 she meant to be obdurate, but because of her 
 own superlative belief in the fitness of her 
 wishes to prevail and to govern not only 
 her own conduct but that of others. No 
 wonder Clarke was restless! 
 
 With a sigh, he resumed the rereading of 
 his letters. At the next one, the little pucker 
 between his eyes smoothed itself out. This 
 letter was from Alice, and was so naively 
 friendly, so simple and direct in its child- 
 like expression of affection and good will, 
 that it made Clarke wish we could all be 
 children all our lives. 
 
 Then came the long letter in which Louise 
 told of the housewarming and her tri- 
 umph. As he read, his frown deepened, and 
 when he had finished, the paper fell to the 
 floor, his head dropped forward and rested 
 in his cupped hands, and he sat motionless 
 through many long minutes. 
 241
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 "My dear," she said, "the great night 
 has come and gone, and I am a very happy 
 woman. The house was like a palace in the 
 'Arabian Nights.' The grounds were like 
 the scene in ' Lalla Rookh,' in Paine's fire- 
 works that used to take us to fairyland when 
 we were children. It was all so gorgeously 
 lovely, I can hardly settle down long enough 
 to tell you about it. 
 
 " All the best people were here. Some of 
 them, no doubt, came prepared to scoff, but 
 I am sure that none went away with any 
 doubt of the ability of the new people to do 
 things right. Father spared no expense, and 
 everything was perfect. The decorations 
 were nothing less than magnificent. Foun- 
 tains played streams of colored water, the 
 flower beds were lighted by a specially in- 
 stalled system of colored bulbs, there were 
 thousands of lights in the trees and shrubs, 
 and soft music that seemed part of the air 
 itself, so delicately was it played. The house 
 was a bower of blossoms. The men and 
 women were the handsomest lot of people I 
 have ever seen. 
 
 " Senator Hooper took me under his wing, 
 and you may be sure that nothing escaped 
 his attention that could make me happier. 
 242
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY; 
 
 He sat out a dance with me, and told me 
 that if he had a daughter of his own he could 
 not have been better pleased than to have her 
 exactly like me. He said that he would like 
 to do everything for me that he would have 
 done for his daughter, and that I must be 
 sure to let him know whenever I wanted 
 anything, because you know, he said, I am 
 pretty near a king out here, and there is 
 nothing you might want that I could not get 
 for you. Wasn't that nice of him? And 
 I am sure he meant it, too. 
 
 " Of course we had the best orchestra that 
 could be hired, and as the Senator had in- 
 sisted that I must play, and as it would not 
 do to cross his wishes at the very outset, I 
 complied. I gave the Jocelyn 'Berceuse,' 
 and Grieg's ' To Spring/ and then, carried 
 away by the spell of the lovely surroundings, 
 I improvised a little. The soft air here 
 makes one feel like a different creature from 
 the person one used to be in the East, and 
 the magic of the night and the lovely sur- 
 roundings simply carried me out of myself, 
 until it seemed as though I had only to hold 
 the violin, and the music came of its own 
 accord. Never, I know, had I played half 
 so well. 
 
 243
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 "And what do you think happened? 
 There was a gentleman in the audience who 
 is passionately fond of the best music, and is 
 regarded as one of the best authorities on the 
 Coast, and he was so delighted that he hur- 
 ried up to me and said : ' Splendid, Mrs. Wil- 
 loughby! But I must confess you have 
 puzzled me with your selection. I cannot, 
 to save my life, place the last thing you 
 played. I am ashamed of my ignorance, for 
 I did not suppose such beautiful music could 
 exist, and I not know of it. Do, please, en- 
 lighten me!' So I told him it was a com- 
 position of my own, with a good deal of 
 improvisation. He went into raptures over 
 it, and finally said, in the hearing of a num- 
 ber of people, ' I did not know that we had 
 welcomed a genius into our happy com- 
 munity. We are most fortunate.' Don't 
 you think that was a triumph for the very 
 first night? 
 
 " Life here is as different as can be from 
 our dull, cold unromantic life in the East. 
 It suits me absolutely. Why, Chester, I feel 
 as though I had never really lived before. I 
 think I must have been made for this climate, 
 or it for me. It is what I have always craved, 
 without knowing just what it was that I 
 244
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 wanted. I think of you working away there 
 in Boston, and I wish you could have a share 
 in the pleasures that I see await me here. 
 I am going to conquer the Coast ! You may 
 laugh, but I shall surely do it. 
 
 "And now I must stop, for I must rest 
 this afternoon, to be ready for the festivities 
 that are arranged for tonight. We seem to 
 be starting out on a regular campaign." 
 
 She had enclosed a clipping from one of 
 the San Francisco papers. This Clarke did 
 not reread. It ran like this: 
 
 " The wealth and fashion of the city as- 
 sembled last night at The Alhambra, the 
 new villa of Mr. and Mrs. Robert Malsby, 
 newcomers from the East. Never have the 
 stars of our society shone brighter than on 
 this occasion. If the Malsbys and their 
 beautiful daughter, Mrs. Walter Wil- 
 loughby, had set out with deliberate pur- 
 pose to capture the Coast they could not 
 have scored a greater triumph. 
 
 " The spacious grounds were a revel of 
 light and color, and the best orchestra to be 
 had for money discoursed sweet strains upon 
 the evening airs. Mrs. Willoughby, herself 
 a musician of no mean attainments, won the 
 plaudits of the critical audience with her 
 245
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 splendid rendition of some of the most dim- 
 cult music written for the violin. If this 
 gifted lady were to take up music as a pro- 
 fession, the great Ysaye himself would be 
 compelled to look to his laurels. A verit- 
 able goddess of music, but it is safe to 
 say that this tenderly nurtured daughter of 
 luxury will not dispense the musings of her 
 gifted bow to vulgar ears. It was a triumph 
 indeed for this Dark Lady of the East, and 
 we miss our guess if California does not 
 adopt her. Indeed, it is whispered among 
 the elect that a very distinguished and in- 
 fluential gentleman has already taken the 
 fair one under his wing, and under such 
 auspices it is impossible to predict the heights 
 to which the newcomer may yet attain. 
 There may be in store a brilliant reign for a 
 new Queen of the Coast. Mrs. Willoughby 
 wore " 
 
 One reading of that rhapsody was quite 
 enough for Chester Clarke. It sickened his 
 soul. What right had any one to sully his 
 wife's name with such oozing adulation? It 
 was shameful. 
 
 He did not even allow his mind to form 
 the thought which would have expressed his 
 feeling toward any woman who had per- 
 246
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 mitted such things to be said about herself. 
 Could she have prevented it? 
 
 She need not have sent him the hateful 
 thing in print! 
 
 Perhaps she had sent it simply to let him 
 know what was going on. 
 
 Perhaps ! 
 
 Chester Clarke had had a pretty serious 
 shock. 
 
 For the first time in his life, he had to fight 
 against unfaith. It was bitterly hard. 
 
 247
 
 CHAPTER H 
 
 FROM the middle of January to the 
 middle of February Clarke spent most 
 of his spare time reading letters from the 
 West. It was not a wholly happy time for 
 him. Each letter gave him something new 
 to think about. A few days after the fa- 
 mous housewarming Louise wrote: 
 
 "DEAR ONE: This morning I had the 
 most glorious horseback ride. We went out 
 into the country, and you cannot imagine 
 how beautiful it is. This is surely the native 
 country of my soul. 
 
 "The East is cold, and hard, and the 
 people are like the climate. Where Massa- 
 chusetts is intellectual, California is passion- 
 ate. Life here is a thing of joy, not a test 
 of endurance. The heart does not take its 
 orders from the brain. You live, and you 
 enjoy life. 
 
 " I can close my eyes, and see poor, dear 
 old Boston for you know I am really 
 very fond of the town I can see it now, 
 248
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 deep with snow, icy gales whooping across 
 the Common, the streets clogged, everything 
 bare and bleak. And here it is like spring 
 at its very best. Every breath of air is per- 
 fumed, and carries a note of music. 
 
 ' You despise the word * lure,' I know, but 
 you must let me use it, for it is really the 
 only word I can think of that expresses the 
 strange power of this country to cast a spell 
 over you. You are lured from one pleasure 
 to another. Even you, dear, with your ad- 
 mirable New England firmness of charac- 
 ter, that I so much respect in you, would 
 relax just a little if you could spend a few 
 weeks with us out here. And it would do 
 you good. What jolly times we could have 
 together! I would play to you, evenings, in 
 the moonlight, so that you would believe 
 yourself an enchanted prince, and me the 
 fairy who had cast the spell over you." 
 Then she wrote about the people: 
 " Such wonderful people ! They are the 
 most hospitable folk in the world. Their 
 hospitality is not like that of the East. It 
 is spontaneous, and insistent. These Cali- 
 fornians are always trying to give you a 
 good time, and when they have planned 
 something for your entertainment, they 
 249
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 simply will not take no for an answer. 
 They will carry you away by force, rather 
 than let you escape their kind intentions. 
 Can you guess the name of one lady with 
 whom they do not have to use much vio- 
 lence? I spoke, the other day, about going 
 back to the East. They simply would not 
 hear of it. Why, I had only just come! 
 There were so many things I must see and 
 do. It must not be thought of, at least not 
 until summer. You would have wondered, 
 if you had heard them, how they ever man- 
 aged to get along before we came. It was 
 all very flattering. 
 
 " The Senator especially insisted that I 
 must not think of leaving them. He said it 
 would be cruel to him, after coming into his 
 life and bringing so much light and joy into 
 his dark places those were his very words 
 for me to go away and leave him lonelier 
 than if I had never come into his life at all. 
 You know, he has done everything for us, 
 and we cannot help being most grateful to 
 him. It would have taken us years to get 
 ourselves half as well established as we have 
 done in these few weeks, thanks to his 
 mighty influence. 
 
 "I told him my dear son was alone on 
 250
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 the other side of the continent, and that I 
 simply must visit him and see that all was 
 well with him, and take my daughter back 
 to school. Of course there was nothing more 
 for him to say, especially when I told him 
 how my whole hope in life was wrapped up 
 in Ernest, and how it was my one ambition 
 to see him grow up to be a fine, strong, 
 clean living, honest and honored man; rich 
 in character, whether he had much or little 
 money. 
 
 " The dear old man said he admired and 
 respected my feeling, and that it was one 
 more reason why I should settle here, and 
 make the Coast my permanent home. He 
 said, * Your boy, who must be a fine fellow, 
 will soon be through with school, the college 
 years will pass quickly, and he will be ready 
 to go into business or a profession. I can, 
 and of course I will, do a great deal to help 
 him get his start.' You will see, dear, what 
 an important consideration this is. It would 
 be a wonderful thing for Ernest to begin his 
 career with a friend like the Senator to make 
 the way smooth for him. Perhaps he ought 
 to go to college here, instead of Harvard. 
 I shall look into it. 
 
 "Of course, if we were to settle in the 
 251
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 East, as we have been planning, you would 
 do whatever you could to help, but you 
 could not possibly do the things there that 
 my Senator can do for us here. I haven't 
 the slightest doubt that if you were to come 
 out here and settle, as a lawyer, he would 
 be able soon to get you an important Judge- 
 ship, or possibly a diplomatic appointment. 
 Wouldn't it be a splendid thing, after we 
 have our public wedding and, oh, what 
 a wedding we could have in this wonderful 
 place! wouldn't it be almost unimagin- 
 ably fine if we could go abroad as an Am- 
 bassador's family, or at least a Minister's? 
 Isn't it worth thinking over pretty seri- 
 ously? I can see promise of a wonderful 
 future for you, and for Ernest and for 
 me, too ! " 
 
 Then came a letter from Mr. Malsby. 
 
 "Dear Chester," he wrote, "we are still 
 on deck, and the old boat is bowling along 
 in great style. There 's something in the air 
 out here that gets into you, and I 'm feeling 
 and acting like a kid of twenty. Wish you 
 were with us. By the way, why are n't you? 
 After a fellow's been living here a few 
 weeks, he gets to feeling that everybody 
 ought to be doing just whatever is the most 
 252
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 fun for him. Wind up your business in 
 Boston, come on here, and in a year I bet 
 we '11 be making you Governor. 
 
 "Louise is having the time of her life. 
 She 's a general favorite, popular with every- 
 body. There are a lot of fine young lads 
 who are interested in her, old man, and while 
 I know you are as safe with her, being en- 
 gaged to her, as if you were married to her, 
 still I sort of wish you were out here with 
 us, just so you could look after your own 
 interests a bit more. 
 
 " Please forgive an old fellow if he talks 
 too much. There isn't anything to worry 
 about. Of course, that damned money busi- 
 ness is still hanging fire, and sometimes I 'm 
 tempted to throw the whole thing up, and 
 let Sharp get away with it. But I'm not 
 built of quitting stuff, and it goes against 
 the grain even to think of it. Still, I '11 be 
 mighty glad when the thing is settled, and 
 we can go ahead with that wedding, which 
 will be some wedding, or I '11 be the most 
 disappointed man in seven States. 
 
 " The Senator is a mighty valuable friend 
 
 to us, he 's doing everything for Louise. If 
 
 he was twenty years younger, my boy, I 'd 
 
 say you'd better look out for him! You 
 
 253
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 know how Louise gets 'em all going, she just 
 can't help it; every man she speaks to or 
 looks at begins to think right away he 's the 
 only man on earth. You know you thought 
 so, yourself, first thing and you proved 
 to be the lucky one. 
 
 " Well, the Senator is as I said doing just 
 everything for Louise. He's the darndest 
 man for pull you ever heard tell of. He 's 
 like the man at the picnic who's got the 
 tickets and the lunch, everybody sticks close 
 to him. Politics or society, it 's all the same 
 see the Senator. He pulls the strings 
 that make the politicians dance, and he says 
 who's going to be who at the parties, he's 
 the whole shootin' match. He puts 'em up, 
 and he knocks 'em down. 
 
 " When he says Louise is going to be it, 
 why, you can just bet your bottom dollar 
 that 's what she 's going to be. It works two 
 ways, as you'll easily see, for if he once 
 changed his mind he could queer her with 
 all the folks as quick as scat. So naturally 
 Louise figures pretty strong on what the 
 Senator '11 think of a thing before she up 
 and does it. 
 
 'You'd laugh to see the way they work 
 this society game. Politics is nowhere. The 
 254
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 Senator has proposed Louise for member- 
 ship in pretty near every club and organiza- 
 tion the ladies have out here. She 's pretty 
 popular, and partly by that and partly by 
 sheer backing she 's become an officer in half 
 the female lodges. It seems funny to a reg- 
 ular he man, but let me tell you it 's no kid's 
 game, the way the ladies play it. All very 
 simple looking and smooth on the surface, 
 but say maybe they ain't some tug o' war 
 going on underneath! An ordinary male 
 person 'd be clean done up after a month or 
 so of it, but not the ladies, they thrive on it. 
 And there is n't a one of 'em all has got any- 
 thing on our Louise when it comes to that 
 game. She 's there with the goods." 
 
 This set Clarke thinking harder than ever. 
 The idea of a removal gained force with rep- 
 etition from different sources. If it seemed 
 'desirable to the old man, there must be 
 enough in it to make it worth serious con- 
 sideration. Clarke gave honest recognition 
 to every argument in favor of it, and as- 
 signed to each the utmost value he could 
 without unfairness to his own side of the 
 case. Louise had evidently fallen in love 
 with the Coast country and people. Was 
 that a lasting passion, or a whim of the mo- 
 255
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 ment? The whim of the moment was to 
 one of her temperament the moment's ruling 
 law! 
 
 But, granting the sincerity of her con- 
 viction, the fact remained that the place for 
 a wife is with her husband, and the place for 
 him is not to be decided on whim. He be- 
 longed to the East, he had sprung from its 
 soil, the blood of New England ran in his 
 veins ; he was too well established, too deeply 
 rooted, to change now. He could not give 
 up his practice, no matter what prizes might 
 be offered in a new country. It was not a 
 matter of money, not a matter of relative 
 rank ; it was a matter of a man's lif ework, a 
 matter of pride in completing the structure 
 he had planned and had so successfully 
 begun to rear. Is not the architecture of 
 a career as dear a thing to a man as the safe- 
 guarding of her honorable reputation is to 
 a woman? And would a woman hesitate a 
 moment, whatever the inducement, if the 
 price of it were the sacrifice of her honor? 
 The questions answered themselves. 
 
 It was simply impossible for him to con- 
 sider this suggested remaking of his life, 
 and it could not fairly be asked of him. Of 
 course, he told himself, it had not really as 
 256
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 yet, at least, been asked of him with serious 
 intent of moving him to a decision; but the 
 mere suggestion was disquieting. He must 
 do everything he could to get Louise to 
 come back East. It would not be difficult, 
 for she must want to be with him as much 
 as he wanted to have her with him; and be- 
 sides, he knew that she must be genuinely 
 anxious to visit Ernest and to be near him 
 for some time; so anxious that no persua- 
 sions of that confounded old fox of a Sena- 
 tor could hold her back. 
 
 What was the use of worrying? he asked 
 himself. He answered the question most 
 positively no use at all, it was sheer non- 
 sense to waste time on it, the whole thing 
 would straighten itself out in the natural 
 course of events. 
 
 But just as he succeeded in bringing him- 
 self around to this sensible and rather more 
 comfortable frame of mind, there came an- 
 other letter which set the machinery of doubt 
 in motion again. In this letter Louise spoke 
 about the house in a way and at a length 
 which showed that she was becoming at- 
 tached to it with an affection that was going 
 to make it more difficult than ever for her 
 to tear herself away. She was thinking of 
 257
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 it, more and more definitely, as her home. 
 She was being alienated from him. 
 
 " I love the place," she wrote, " as I have 
 never loved any other place. It is more 
 truly my home than any other spot of earth 
 has ever been ; more, I honestly believe, than 
 any other spot of earth ever can be after 
 this." 
 
 She wrote more and more about the 
 money all for the children's sake. He 
 wrote back to her: 
 
 " My Darling: I do wish you would not 
 let that money occupy your thoughts so 
 much. I know it has to be attended to, but 
 why not leave that to your father and me? 
 It is for your own sake that I suggest it. 
 Such things, if you let them once find lodg- 
 ment in your mind, have a truly terrible 
 power to drive other, and happier, things 
 out; and if your mind is full of such cares 
 and worries, how can you be happy? 
 
 " I want you to be always happy. As I 
 have told you, often and often, I would 
 make any sacrifice of personal interest or 
 desire, pleasure or profit, any sacrifice of 
 my own wellbeing, to contribute to your 
 happiness. You know, dear, that that is not 
 one of those lover's vows at which Jove 
 258
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 laughs, but a deliberate, exact statement of 
 literal truth. I would do anything, give up 
 anything, to make life easier or pleasanter 
 for you. If I could, I would take over the 
 entire burden of this fortune of the chil- 
 dren's. But the issue cannot be forced, we 
 must bide our time. When the time comes, 
 you may be sure that your interest, and 
 theirs, will be safeguarded." 
 
 He wrote much more, but this was the 
 tenor of the whole long letter; and it was 
 this that led Louise, always impatient of 
 admonition, however well meant and how- 
 ever justified in the fact, to answer petu- 
 lantly: 'You don't understand me, you 
 don't sympathize with me. It is all for the 
 children, there is nothing selfish in it." 
 
 As if he had thought or hinted that there 
 was ! His sympathy, he knew, was perfect. 
 He thought he understood her better than 
 she understood herself. But, he mused 
 rather bitterly, what man could be sure that 
 he really understood a woman, any woman, 
 even the woman he loved with heart and soul 
 and whose happiness was dearer to him than 
 his own? And this was a form of cynicism 
 he had always particularly despised! 
 
 A boyishly frank and friendly letter from 
 259
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY; 
 
 Ernest was the one bright spot these weeks 
 had for Chester Clarke. 
 
 He ached for the end of this episode, this 
 intermission in their happiness. She would 
 soon be coming East again. All would be 
 well once more. 
 
 260
 
 ON the twenty-first day of March Ches- 
 ter Clarke observed an anniversary. 
 It was just a year since he had met Louise, 
 at that memorable dinner given by the Sons 
 to the Daughters of the American Revolu- 
 tion. The anniversary had been something 
 of a disappointment to him. Disappoint- 
 ments had been coming his way pretty 
 steadily of late. 
 
 He had hoped to spend this day, of all 
 days, with Louise; but she had sweetly de- 
 clared it quite impossible. The twenty-first 
 came on a Thursday, and he had spoken of 
 his plan to come down Wednesday night 
 and return by the midnight train on Thurs- 
 day night. She was sorry, she said, but she 
 had already arranged to go up to Ernest's 
 school town for the last half of the week. 
 The parents of one of the boys were giving 
 a house party for some of the students who 
 were unable to go home for the Easter holi- 
 days, and Ernest had been very anxious to 
 have his beautiful mother there. She had 
 261
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 planned, she said, to cut the visit short and 
 come back to the city on Saturday, so as to 
 be with Clarke for his customary week end 
 visit. She could not possibly disappoint 
 Ernest; nothing could be quite important 
 enough to justify her in such a course. 
 Therefore, Clarke would have to spend the 
 day alone. She would be with him in her 
 thoughts, and he would have to be content 
 with that. They could have their celebra- 
 tion, if he so desired, at the end of the week. 
 
 So Clarke had let the matter pass. He 
 would not think, he said, of letting his selfish 
 pleasures interfere with her plans or those 
 of Ernest. He did not even tell her how 
 great a disappointment this was to him. 
 He played the stoic. He observed the anni- 
 versary alone. He spent the evening re- 
 viewing the events of the year. He had, 
 during this annus mirdbilis, kept a diary 
 something he had never before thought of 
 doing. As he read it through, this evening, 
 its entries furnished a framework for the 
 story, as he reconstructed it in his mind. 
 
 It was a bright and happy story, up to 
 the time of his wife's departure, at the be- 
 ginning of the New Year, for the Coast. 
 After that the spirit of it subtly changed. 
 262
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY; 
 
 Now for the first time he realized clearly 
 how great the change had been. He had 
 been vaguely uncomfortable, these last three 
 months; increasingly, but still vaguely, un- 
 comfortable. There had been no definite 
 grievance to supply a nucleus for his dis- 
 content. Now, however, as he recalled in 
 swift review the events of those weeks, their 
 significance took more definite shape in his 
 mind. Each one stood out with startling 
 clearness, and each one took on new mean- 
 ing from juxtaposition with the others. The 
 chronological sequence predicated, all too 
 clearly, the possible logical consequence. 
 
 It was with the entry of February 15, 
 when he went to meet her in New York, that 
 the sinister suggestion began to assume 
 sharper outline, dark forms of fear to 
 emerge from the chiaroscuro of the film. 
 
 Feb. 15 Met Louise. What a joy, as 
 the minutes passed, to know that each one 
 brought her nearer. When the train drew 
 in, I could see that my Louise was Queen 
 of the Railroad, whether or not she had yet 
 become Queen of the Coast. The porters 
 almost fought for the honor of assisting 
 her, while other passengers went uncared 
 for. How beautiful she is I It seemed to 
 263
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 * i 
 
 me that she looked lovelier than ever. It 
 seemed to me there was a new suggestion of 
 the voluptuous in her beauty, as though the 
 softer airs of the Coast climate had imparted 
 a new tone to her whole being : certainly not 
 sensual, hardly even sensuous, but warmer, 
 richer, more paganly womanish more 
 alluring. 
 
 She had planned to be gone only a month 
 just to "run out" to the Coast for the 
 housewarming and back. She had been 
 away six weeks, and every week had been 
 a year to me. No wonder I was glad to see 
 her Lord, how tame the words sound. 
 Glad? I was wild with joy. Now at last 
 the long wait was ended, she had come back 
 to me, back where she belongs, back to the 
 true wife's place beside her husband. I felt 
 a little stab of pain because she did not seem 
 quite as exuberantly happy to be back as I 
 had supposed she would, but she has so 
 many interests, so many friends, so many at- 
 tachments to different places, that she could 
 hardly be expected to feel just as I did. 
 
 We went straight to the hotel where I had 
 engaged rooms, and it was a real joy to be 
 able to register for " Mr. and Mrs. Chester 
 Clarke." 
 
 264
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY, 
 
 Feb. 18 Louise gave me a shock today. 
 We were talking about the Coast. She told 
 about her last night there. Two weeks be- 
 fore the date she had been urged to stay 
 for the Forty-Niner's Ball, one of the most 
 brilliant events of the season. She had 
 pleaded her anxiety to return East, on ac- 
 count of Ernest, but the people would admit 
 no excuses, and she had at last yielded to 
 their persuasions. Did she yield, I wonder, 
 with any very great reluctance? She could 
 hardly be expected to realize how much each 
 day each hour of added waiting meant 
 to me. A person with so glorious a self as 
 hers has more right than the rest of us have 
 to be selfish ! I did not say anything to her, 
 but it did and it does seem most strange 
 to me that she should have decided on this 
 postponement without telling me just what 
 was the reason for it. I do not think she 
 meant, really, to tell me about it even now, 
 but it slipped out in the course of our con- 
 versation. It almost seems as though there 
 had been something to conceal, though I am 
 absolutely certain that there is nothing 
 underhanded about it. Perhaps she was a 
 little bit ashamed of herself for having made 
 me wait beyond the appointed time! 
 265
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY; 
 
 I imagine this Forty-Niners' Ball is a 
 pretty gay affair. It seemed to me as she 
 described it that she might be toning down 
 the colors a little. I don't know all I can 
 say is that it left me feeling uncomfortable, 
 without my being able to give any reason at 
 all for that f eeling. 
 
 The thing that did surprise me was the 
 fact that she told me she had worn one of 
 the gowns that she had had made for her 
 trousseau. 
 
 " Why, Louise," I said, " I thought you 
 were not to wear those gowns till after our 
 public wedding!" 
 
 "Oh," she said, rather carelessly, I 
 thought, " I did not intend to do so, but it 
 is such a beautiful thing, and I wanted to 
 make my very finest appearance at this ball 
 it is one of the greatest events of the year 
 out there, and the women are dressed beau- 
 tifully. There was n't time to have anything 
 new made, and this gown was just the thing. 
 I made a hit. It was very much admired. 
 And, you know, the styles change so fast 
 that by the time we are ready for our real 
 wedding it would be quite out of fashion. I 
 shall have something new for that occasion." 
 
 This was a facer for me! I had always 
 266
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 supposed a woman's trousseau was well, 
 shall I say almost a part of the wedding 
 itself. It may be that this is only a clumsy 
 tradition invented for women by men, and 
 not their own idea at all. 
 
 It seemed to me as if she had destroyed 
 a beautiful symbol and we cannot destroy 
 symbols without taking some of the bloom 
 off the things they stand for. I am not sen- 
 timental, but perhaps for that very reason 
 such things, when they do mean something 
 to me, mean even more than they would to a 
 person who habitually makes more of the 
 small things. 
 
 I must have shown that I was puzzled, 
 perhaps I looked even grieved or offended, 
 for she laughed and said : " Now, you fool- 
 ish man! Don't look like that I shall 
 have a new gown made, just as lovely as that 
 one was." 
 
 But I could not help thinking that 
 her laugh was oh, just the least bit 
 strained, as if she had not herself felt ex- 
 actly easy over it. Very likely this was pure 
 imagination. At any rate, the incident 
 made it clear to me that I am very, very far 
 from comprehending the woman way of 
 looking at things. 
 
 267
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 Feb. 20. One of those incidents hap- 
 pened today which it is not easy; for me to 
 understand. . . . 
 
 Here Clarke laid down the diary. He had 
 no further need of the book to refresh his 
 memory. He could picture the scene in his 
 mind's eye and hear the words as distinctly 
 as though they were again being uttered. 
 
 Alice was to take part in a school play. 
 Her special invitation to him to be present 
 and see her make her debut had been warmly 
 seconded by her mother, so he had planned 
 a day with them. 
 
 As he was in the act of passing the open 
 window of her apartment, he overheard 
 a voice, which he at once recognized as 
 Louise's, saying: 
 
 " A man could not pay a woman a higher 
 compliment than to ask her to be his wife. 
 I am very much honored." 
 
 Clarke could endure no more. Unpleas- 
 ant as it was to intrude, he felt that he could 
 not retreat, so he gave the bell a vigorous 
 pull. After what seemed to him a long 
 delay, the door opened and a gentleman 
 stepped briskly into the hall. He passed 
 Clarke without a glance and walked out of 
 the building. 
 
 268
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 Louise appeared a moment later. She 
 met him with wonderful self-possession. 
 
 "Why, Chester!" she cried, kissing him, 
 " I am glad that you came just as you did. 
 You have relieved me of a most embarrass- 
 ing situation. 
 
 " Who do you suppose that was and what 
 do you suppose he was doing here? 
 
 " Well, that was Doctor Belknap of San 
 Francisco and he was making me an offer 
 of marriage." 
 
 'Yes, I inferred so from the remark I 
 overheard you make as I reached your door." 
 
 " Oh, you overheard our conversation. 
 Then you perfectly understand that I did 
 not encourage him to make it. In fact I 
 was quite surprised to see him here. Sit 
 down and I will tell you about it. 
 
 ' You will remember Alice was sick while 
 I was in San Francisco. I preferred to care 
 for her myself. I called in Dr. Belknap 
 he practices in a very exclusive set only, is 
 no end rich and swagger and all that sort 
 of thing well, he came a number of times 
 in the evening and made rather long visits. 
 I didn't think anything of that. Then I 
 called him in after midnight once or twice. 
 Of course he saw me in my robe de chambre 
 269
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 and and well, I thought he was a 
 little affectionate and held my hand rather 
 long while he was showing me how to drop 
 medicine that, I think, was all oh, no 
 the next morning as I was leaving for the 
 East, he was at the train to see me off, and 
 brought a gorgeous bunch of flowers with 
 his compliments. And here he is today to 
 tell me that he simply cannot live without 
 me. Now you have the whole story." 
 
 "Very well, dear, let's forget it," said 
 Clarke. 
 
 " But I do think it is the strangest thing 
 how you men misunderstand a woman." 
 
 The weeks between this rather remark- 
 able incident and the lonely anniversary 
 which had set Clarke's thoughts on the back- 
 ward track had been quite uneventful. But 
 it was impossible not to see that there had 
 been a change in his relations with Louise. 
 It was, of course, only temporary and super- 
 ficial; but it was just alarming enough to 
 make him more resolved than ever that their 
 public and official wedding should be cele- 
 brated just as soon as that miserable busi- 
 ness of the will could be settled. And he 
 resolved that the settlement must be has- 
 tened. By way of hastening it, he sat down 
 270
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 at his desk and wrote a letter to Mr. Malsby, 
 in which he urged him to do anything he 
 could to get things moving. "I tell you, 
 sir," he wrote, "this thing cannot go on 
 this way. It is going to make trouble for 
 us if it is not disposed of soon." 
 
 271
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 ON the first day of April Louise received 
 a telegram from her father from To- 
 peka: "Come at once. Ready for round 
 up." 
 
 On the second day of April Louise left, 
 well pleased to be moving again in the direc- 
 tion of her newly beloved California. 
 
 " Ready for round up " : that meant that 
 the will was about to be signed. One step, 
 and a good long one, in the right direction 
 toward the settling of this most difficult 
 part of his problem, for Clarke. 
 
 He could picture in his mind the scene: 
 he had, when in Topeka, made one call at 
 the old Willoughby house. Mr. Willoughby 
 had been the possessor of a very distin- 
 guished collection of John Brown papers, 
 and Mr. Malsby had contrived to give 
 Clarke a view of them. He had not seen 
 the old lady, but Sharp was there, and 
 Clarke could imagine what figure he would 
 cut at the conference. The house itself had 
 engaged his interest. 
 
 272
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 The parlors and sitting room opened 
 from either side of a broad hall. Heavy 
 curtains of some dark colored material were 
 at the windows, hanging from brass-tipped 
 wooden rods and gathered in at the sides 
 with thick, tasselled cords. There were no 
 rugs ; the floor was covered, from baseboard 
 to baseboard, with brussels carpet of a huge 
 flowered pattern. The furniture was of 
 heavy black walnut a ponderous center 
 table; high backed chairs, upholstered in an 
 ornate blue brocade; a what-not, carrying a 
 collection of " curios." And, shades of by- 
 gone discomforts, in the sitting room he dis- 
 covered a horsehair sofa; a design of wax 
 flowers covered by a glass bell, and, promi- 
 nently placed on the center table, a bulky, 
 massively bound " family " Bible. 
 
 A heavy cornice and frieze brought ceiling 
 and walls together. Imposingly dull pic- 
 tures hung in showy, gilded frames. The 
 companion crayon portraits of an elderly 
 man and woman of imposing appearance 
 Clarke correctly supposed to represent 
 Father and Mother Willoughby. Could 
 that large carved music box on its stand in 
 the corner possibly play a sentimental tune 
 from " Robert le Diable," or such a dance as 
 273
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 might animate those two stiff -kneed marble 
 figures flanking the folding doors? There 
 they stood, giving mute testimony of some 
 long-since visit of the elder Willoughbys to 
 those centers of Europe where a certain sort 
 of American craving, a flattering though 
 misdirected ambition to patronize Art, was 
 formerly gratified with a discernment more 
 artistic than these stiff reminders of other 
 days. Everywhere was evidence that the 
 house had been furnished quite " regardless 
 of expense" no doubt, when the Wil- 
 loughbys and the Willoughby fortune alike 
 were young. Father and Mother Wil- 
 loughby had apparently indulged then, but 
 never since, in a revel of up-to-dateness. 
 
 The house stood well back from the street, 
 and the whole place was encompassed by a 
 highly ornamental iron fence. In the mathe- 
 matically exact center of the lawn on one 
 side of the walk an iron hound stood pa- 
 tiently, ignoring and ignored by the lofty 
 antlered iron stag in the mathematically 
 exact center of the lawn on the other side. 
 Metallically constant, metallically indiffer- 
 ent, they gave the place an air of ironclad 
 respectability. The flower beds were laid 
 out in Euclidean patterns, the shrubs were 
 274
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 pruned into the most unnatural forms the 
 mind of man could devise. The house had 
 three stories, with a mansard roof, and was 
 flanked by towers ornamented with iron 
 work. 
 
 Clarke could visualize easily and vividly 
 the meeting of the parties interested in the 
 making of the will. It would be a rather 
 sombre affair. There would be the old 
 lady, a silent and somewhat sinister presence. 
 There would be the sons and daughters, 
 fearful and envious. There would be Sharp, 
 greedy and shrewd, playing the deep game. 
 There would be the Judge, representing the 
 stern majesty of the law, and there would 
 be Malsby, alert and aggressive, defending 
 the interests of his grandchildren. And 
 Louise what a contrast she would make 
 to these others! 
 
 With this picture clearly fixed in his mind, 
 he read easily between the lines of this letter, 
 which he received from Mr. Malsby, on 
 April 9 : 
 
 "TOPEKA, KANSAS, April 6. 
 "DEAR CHESTER: 
 
 "You doubtless heard from Louise that 
 I wired her on the first to come out here to 
 275
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 the round up, so it will be no news to you 
 that we are all here in Kansas. 
 
 " In order to relieve your mind of any 
 apprehension at the start, let me say that I 
 have good news damned good, too. We 
 have roped and branded the steer, and the 
 will is executed to our satisfaction. Let me 
 tell you about it. 
 
 " As you know, I have been watching for 
 an opening to land on Sharp. Well, it came 
 last fall, sooner than I had expected, and I 
 hit out from the shoulder. I did n't let you 
 in on it then, because I wasn't sure that it 
 would come to anything. He put an ad in 
 the paper for an assistant bookkeeper, and 
 I immediately wired a New York detective 
 agency to send me their best man. He 
 came, a fellow named Smiley, got his in- 
 structions from me, and applied for the job. 
 After looking him over, he proved to be just 
 the man Sharp wanted good at figures, 
 but a cringing sort of a galoot in other ways. 
 
 " Sharp set him to work. After he had 
 got the run of the place, he began at odd 
 times to look over the old accounts. He fol- 
 lowed up a good many blind trails before he 
 struck anything that proved interesting 
 but he got there at last. He found on one 
 276
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 of the stubs of a check book, on a Kansas 
 City bank where the concern kept most of 
 its funds, a check made payable to Father 
 Willoughby for $50,000. This was drawn 
 a few days before the old man died. There 
 was nothing to arouse suspicion except the 
 size of the check. 
 
 " Smiley wondered, and set about find- 
 ing out what the old man had done with so 
 large a sum. He located the check, after 
 some hunt, and found that it had been en- 
 dorsed in blank and paid over the counter. 
 As Father Willoughby hadn't been out of 
 the house for a month before he died, it was 
 clear that he couldn't have cashed it in. 
 
 " There was nothing in the books to show 
 that the funds had been used subsequently 
 in the business. At this stage of the inves- 
 tigation I went to Topeka that was two 
 weeks ago and took a hand in it. None 
 of the family knew anything about the 
 matter. 
 
 "Of two handwriting experts, one gave 
 it as his opinion that the endorsement was 
 genuine; the other was sure that it was a 
 forgery so much for that. The bank 
 officials had no distinct recollection of pay- 
 ing it, but were all agreed that they 
 277
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 not have paid so large a sum to any one but 
 Sharp without confirmation. He was fre- 
 quently in Kansas City on business for the 
 Works, and it was a common occurrence for 
 him to present similar checks for collection 
 though not usually for anything like so 
 large a sum. It was evident that Sharp 
 had got the money, but we couldn't learn 
 anything more. 
 
 " I concluded to put him through a third 
 degree. I invited him around one evening 
 and put it up to him. I gave him to under- 
 stand that I knew just what he did with the 
 money, and I preached him a little sermon 
 on the Commandment, ' Thou shalt not 
 steal.' I might say that I expounded the 
 Scriptures to him, as one having authority, 
 not as the scribe. Being a church member 
 in good and regular standing, he showed the 
 greatest interest in all that I said. Then I 
 read him an extract from the Penal Code 
 of the State of Kansas setting forth in un- 
 mistakable terms the penalty in such cases 
 made and provided. This also seemed to 
 impress him deeply. In fact he asked if I 
 would object to opening a window and 
 letting in a little air. 
 
 "When I got through, I gave him his 
 278
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 choice, either to spend the night in jail or 
 to cooperate with me in securing the execu- 
 tion of Mother Willoughby's will upon the 
 understanding that if he made the latter 
 choice I would keep his little secret. He was 
 to insist, however, that his wife receive, under 
 the terms of the will, fifty thousand dollars 
 less than her distributive share of the estate 
 on account of the debt of gratitude which he 
 owed Father Willoughby. I told him that 
 I would let him explain that in his own way. 
 I made it clear that if he failed to secure 
 this provision in the will, he and I would n't 
 be able to do business. 
 
 " To make a long story short, the clan 
 gathered, and the will was duly executed 
 yesterday, and is now lodged in the office of 
 the Probate Court for this county. 
 
 "You would have thought it well worth 
 the price of a trip out here and back to have 
 heard Sharp's explanation of the reason why 
 his wife should discount that fifty thousand. 
 
 " Father Willoughby had been more than 
 a father to him, he said ; had helped him in- 
 vest his savings, which investments had been 
 very profitable, and shortly before he died 
 had made him a munificent gift in token of 
 his esteem, and appreciation of his faithful 
 279
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 services. In recognition of all this, his wife 
 joined him in insisting that they should re- 
 ceive fifty thousand dollars less than her 
 proportionate share of the estate it would 
 be a comparatively small discount anyway; 
 they would have more than enough. 
 
 " Sharp had already, as of course you 
 understand, made his position clear to 
 Mother Willoughby, who, no doubt, had 
 resolved to make it up to * dear John ' some 
 other way, but to Louise and the other Wil- 
 loughbys sitting about it was so to speak 
 first-hand information. You should have, 
 seen their faces they were all bowled over 
 hadn't a word to say and they haven't 
 recovered yet. 
 
 "As we left the house, Judge Pike said 
 to me, 'Malsby, what's the answer?' and I 
 replied, ' There is n't any, Judge.' 
 
 " So now, my boy, the winter of your dis- 
 content is about to be changed to glorious 
 summer, as Mark Twain or some other 
 literary fellow has put it, and I am glad of it. 
 
 : ' Very truly yours, 
 
 "ROBERT MALSBY. 
 
 " P.S. Louise and I leave for San Fran- 
 cisco tonight." 
 
 280
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 letter from Mr. Malsby was like 
 a great eraser sweeping over the black- 
 board on which Chester Clarke had been 
 writing the record of his life, the hand of 
 fate holding his fingers, but the inscription 
 was not at all what he would have made it 
 had his auctorial will been subject to no such 
 editorial control. Now the board had been 
 swept clean, the writing was to begin anew, 
 and he had high visions of what was to be 
 inscribed. 
 
 Happier than he had been for weeks, he 
 dashed off a note to Louise: 
 
 "BOSTON, April 9, 19 . 
 " MY BELOVED OXE : 
 
 " I am just in receipt of your father's long 
 and all important letter. I cannot tell you 
 how I have looked forward to this day 
 what it means to me. Thank God that this 
 long wait is over at last ! I only hope that I 
 have lived up to all that you expected of me 
 for your sake and that of the children that 
 281
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 their interests are secured and that they will 
 in due time come into their own. 
 
 "And now it is our turn! Write me as 
 soon as you are able to do so the date on 
 which you will announce our engagement in 
 order that it may appear simultaneously in 
 the Boston and California papers also how 
 long do you think it will take to arrange the 
 wedding? 
 
 " Personally I am not at all particular 
 about a grand celebration, and especially if 
 it entails further delay; but that is for you 
 to determine, and I suppose your dear Dad 
 will want to do us proud. 
 
 " I shall need just notice enough to en- 
 able me to make the necessary arrangements 
 to be absent from my office for two or three 
 weeks, for I suppose we will return East by 
 easy stages say a run to the National 
 Park, then to Niagara Falls, or if the season 
 is too early for these places, we could come 
 home by the Southern route, stopping off at 
 San Antonio and New Orleans. Are you a 
 good sailor? We could take a steamer from 
 New Orleans to New York. It 's a wonder- 
 ful voyage. The steamers are first class. 
 We '11 have the time of our lives ! 
 
 'You should have seen me when I got 
 282
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 your father's letter. I was dictating to my 
 stenographer a very proper young lady. 
 I said, ' Can you dance? ' I didn't wait for 
 her answer. I grabbed her and with a 
 ' waltz me round again, Willie,' I sailed in. 
 Well, I won't tell you what she said but I 
 am afraid I Ve lost caste with the office 
 force. I just slipped a cog, that was all; 
 but can you blame me? 
 
 "Kiss little Alice for me. Keep a few 
 for yourself and believe me 
 
 'Your devoted, 
 "CHESTER." 
 
 And this was the reply: 
 
 " MY DEAR CHESTER : 
 
 " We reached home Thursday night. The 
 trip was uneventful. On the train father 
 made the acquaintance of a gentleman from 
 Berkeley who was very polite to us. Each 
 morning there was a beautiful bunch of 
 flowers at my breakfast plate. No offer of 
 marriage, however, as yet. 
 
 "We have had a host of callers. The 
 Senator came to pay his compliments the 
 first afternoon and to tell us how much he 
 had missed us. He stayed to dinner and 
 after that we had the piano moved out onto 
 283
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 the veranda. While he and Alice made 
 themselves cosy on a lounge, I improvised to 
 them in the moonlight. 
 
 " I think after reading your letter that 
 you must indeed have ' slipped a cog,' as you 
 put it. Now I hope that you won't be too 
 much disappointed, but, dear boy, don't you 
 see that you have lost your sense of the 
 eternal fitness of things? 
 
 " If there was n't anything to prevent, I 
 could n't get ready for our wedding in a day. 
 There are a lot of things that a woman has 
 to do when she is going to be married of 
 which you men know nothing and there are 
 matters out here to be arranged. 
 
 "But putting them all aside, there is 
 Mother Willoughby still to be considered. 
 It wouldn't do at all for us to marry the 
 day after that will was signed ! It would be 
 such a faux pas, so transparent. It might 
 undo all that we have thus far accomplished. 
 
 " She would know at once that we had 
 been concealing our relations from her 
 against that event, that I had been deceiv- 
 ing her for who shall say how long, and she 
 would never forgive me. Could you blame 
 her? She is a very shrewd old lady very 
 clever, and I might say very vindictive once 
 284
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 she is roused. You see in a day, with the 
 stroke of a pen, she can cut the children off. 
 It is still in her power to give her property 
 away in her lifetime; or a codicil to her will, 
 as you perfectly well know, would deprive 
 them of their father's share. 
 
 " The other Willoughbys would all profit 
 by just that much, and there isn't one of 
 them that wouldn't be glad of it. You see 
 they were willing to make common cause 
 with father against the common enemy, 
 Sharp. Now that they have got what they 
 wanted out of Sharp and their mother, they 
 wouldn't hesitate to combine with him to 
 make off with Ernest's and Alice's share. 
 
 " They have a very good argument to ad- 
 vance to Mother Willoughby my children 
 will come into the property their father left 
 and will also inherit the whole of my father's 
 estate some day that alone is ample 
 all that is good for them. 
 
 "In my last talks with Mother Wil- 
 loughby at Topeka she hinted at all this and 
 gave me to understand that the bequest to 
 the children in her will was a sort of shrine 
 to their father's memory where we three 
 were to go every day to worship. It follows, 
 
 of course, that if we failed to place our daily 
 285
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 libations on the altar, the Goddess would 
 grow angry and withhold her blessing. 
 
 "No, my dear, you will have to possess 
 yourself in patience a while longer. I think 
 it was Milton who said, ' They also serve 
 who only stand and wait.' You have been 
 such a patient waiter; and I always know 
 that I can ask anything of you, anything; 
 that you will make any sacrifice for my 
 sake because you love me. 
 
 "We must let time enough pass before 
 Mrs. Willoughby hears of you so that she 
 may infer that you came into my life after 
 the execution of the will that our rela- 
 tions are not in any way related to that 
 event. 
 
 " Then you must give me time to get her 
 reconciled to the idea of my marrying again, 
 to win her over as I did the children. That 
 means four or five months at least. If you 
 really insist upon my naming the day, I will 
 fix upon September fifteenth. That is my 
 father's birthday. He would be so pleased 
 to have us honor his birthday by making it 
 our wedding day don't you see, the cele- 
 bration could be made a joint affair, and we 
 do owe so much to dear father, who brought 
 about this whole settlement. 
 286
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 "So cheer up ; the intervening time need 
 not hang so heavily on your hands. I shall 
 be coming East in June to fetch the children 
 home and you can spend your summer vaca- 
 tion, just as much time as you can afford to 
 be away, with us here in California. We can 
 take the children and go off into the moun- 
 tains, camping out it would be ideal. Be- 
 fore you were aware of it the summer would 
 be gone. 
 
 " Now have n't I outlined a very sensible 
 plan? I am quite sure that you will agree 
 that I have when you recover from your 
 first sense of disappointment. 
 
 " Poor dear father is not well and we had 
 hardly moved into the house before mother 
 began to nag him. In some way I always 
 seem to be involved in their quarrels. This 
 time it was about father's sanctum. 
 
 " I had arranged the furniture and placed 
 the couch as I thought to the best advantage 
 where he could get the view when he was 
 lying down, but mother thought that my 
 arrangement broke up the symmetry of the 
 room, which is another way of expressing 
 what I call primness, and so it goes. 
 " With much love, 
 
 " LOUISE." 
 287
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 When Clarke received this letter, as was 
 to be expected, he was depressed, and 
 groaned aloud, " How long, O Lord, how 
 long!" He sat very still for an hour, his 
 face buried in his hands, thinking it all out. 
 
 For more than a year now he had held 
 himself together. He had adapted his own 
 ideas and movements to the demands made 
 upon him. He had played the game. He 
 had done it admitting that the reasons for 
 the course of action demanded of him had 
 been consistent and rational, but he had done 
 so upon the understanding that when the 
 Willoughby will should finally be signed 
 that was to be the end of it. 
 
 He had never thought of this new phase 
 of the situation ; it had never been even hinted 
 before. Now he was asked to continue for 
 five months longer what seemed to him in 
 a sense a farce. It was really asking too 
 much, but the reasons advanced were as 
 rational and potent as those offered for the 
 original arrangement; and Clarke's mind 
 was a logical one. 
 
 What other course was there to pursue? 
 
 He could not take advantage of the absolute 
 
 mastery of the situation which his relations 
 
 with Louise gave him to compel her to any 
 
 288
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 other course. His sense of chivalry would n't 
 admit of that, and besides, even to suggest 
 such a thing would be to destroy her love 
 for him. She was too imperious to be 
 coerced too devoted to what she regarded 
 as her children's interests to be reasoned 
 with. 
 
 Therefore Clarke decided once more to 
 continue playing the game. 
 
 289
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 THE structure of Chester Clarke's hap- 
 piness had been reared with startling 
 swiftness. He had thought it would last 
 as long as life. Now he began to have mo- 
 ments of vague but none the less distressing 
 doubt as to the merit of the architecture. 
 Had he been building castles in the air? 
 Were they to vanish on the breath of the 
 wind of adverse fate? No ; at least not with- 
 out an obstinate endeavor on his part to 
 forestall such a catastrophe. 
 
 Letters from the West came more and 
 more infrequently, and each was less richly 
 loaded with words of endearment, less fra- 
 grant with the shared spirit of his hope. It 
 was crushing to receive a letter if it could 
 be called a letter like this: " Dear I can 
 only write a line, as I am going with a party 
 of friends to San Bardou. We expect to 
 have a jolly evening of it, and as it is nearly 
 time to start, I shall have to ask you to read 
 between the lines. Louise." Read between 
 the lines ah, if he could only keep from 
 doing that very thing ! There were few lines, 
 290
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 but there was room between them for so 
 much, so very much, that he did not want to 
 read! People who read between the lines 
 of letters are apt to read more than they 
 should, but, even allowing a proper discount 
 for this, Clarke could not find it in his heart 
 to rejoice over such a letter. He was hurt. 
 Was all the joy in life, so nearly attained, 
 thus to slip away, eluding his eager grasp, 
 and leave him, like a drowning man, clutch- 
 ing with impotent hands at empty air? 
 
 Early in June, Louise wrote she was about 
 to leave for the East, to spend the rest of 
 the month with the children. At the end of 
 the school year she was to take them home 
 with her. He wired immediately, hoping to 
 catch her before she started ; but a telegram 
 came from Mr. Malsby, saying: " Your wire 
 missed Louise by two hours. Try at other 
 end." 
 
 He wrote a letter, addressed to her at the 
 up- State town where she had her apartment 
 when with the children. He expressed his 
 joy at the prospect of seeing her again so 
 soon. " Write me when and where to meet 
 you in New York," he said ; " and name the 
 earliest possible day. I 'm starving for an- 
 other sight of you." 
 
 291
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 Immediately came a telegram : " Have had 
 message, Father sick. Am leaving for San 
 Francisco tomorrow. Too bad." 
 
 " Too bad." Clarke studied himself sick 
 over that telegram. 
 
 In her next letter she said: "No doubt 
 you were surprised when I hurried home 
 without seeing you. But you will perfectly 
 understand! Father seems much better, 
 now that we are all here. His illness is not 
 at all alarming, but of course I cannot do as 
 much going about as formerly. I shall lead 
 a very quiet, domestic life till he is better." 
 
 " * Surprised? ' ' Understand? ' I wish to 
 God I could understand either more, or less, 
 perfectly!" 
 
 But the end was not yet. In the next 
 letter she wrote: 
 
 "The vacation plan will have to be 
 changed. Mother Willoughby has just 
 written that she will visit us out here, and 
 says she will be with us July 15. Isn't 
 it strange that she should have selected the 
 exact date on which you had expected to 
 arrive? 
 
 "Of course, you will see that it would 
 hardly do for you to come when she is here. 
 We could not take our trip to the moun- 
 292
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY, 
 
 tains, as I shall be obliged to devote all of 
 my time to her. We shall simply have to 
 postpone your visit. I know that you will 
 be patient, and it is a great comfort to have 
 this assurance. I believe you literally when 
 you say that you put my happiness before 
 your own, and so I can call upon you for 
 this small sacrifice without fear of your being 
 too much put out with the circumstances 
 which, as I am sure you will see, make it 
 absolutely necessary. 
 
 " With regret, I am, as ever, 
 
 "Yours, 
 "LouisE." 
 
 :< Patient?' Yes as patient as a man 
 can very well be under such circumstances." 
 
 During these weeks Clarke lived in con- 
 stant apprehension. He was unhappy all 
 day, and restless all night. He could not 
 be alone in comfort. He tried a trip down 
 on the Cape; but there was no satisfaction 
 in it for him. So evening after evening he 
 went to the club, dined alone, or with a 
 friend or two, and afterward wandered aim- 
 lessly through the house. Gradually he fell 
 into the habit of settling down for the even- 
 ing in the reading room. 
 293
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 Once he picked up a copy of a San Fran- 
 cisco weekly, the Golden Gate. It lay on a 
 table, open at the page of " society notes." 
 He ran his eye carelessly down the columns, 
 but found nothing of interest; and by ten 
 o'clock he was on his way home. 
 
 Night after night he gravitated to that 
 reading room. Now and again a malignant 
 fate seemed to lay under his questing hand 
 that phosphorous sheet, the Golden Gate. 
 
 He despised the life reflected in its pages. 
 A shallow life. A life that sparkled only 
 because it had no stability. A life that chose 
 to forget the past, that took no heed of the 
 future, that lived only for the joy of the 
 present moment : like a worm eating its way 
 to the heart of a rose. 
 
 At first he did not think of it as distinctly 
 a San Francisco paper, it was simply a 
 mirror held up to a certain kind of living 
 practiced by a group of people everywhere, 
 in every city. But gradually it began to 
 claim a place as a San Francisco message; 
 and all of a sudden the fact leaped to recog- 
 nition that these blatantly celebrated person- 
 ages of the gay world were fellow towns- 
 people of his Louise; that she was making 
 her great success among them. That gave 
 294
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 them a new interest, and a certain claim 
 upon his consideration. They couldn't be, 
 after all, quite such a bad lot quite so 
 worthless as he had been making them 
 out. Then it dawned upon him that if her 
 social triumphs were as pronounced as re- 
 ported, of necessity this paper would make 
 mention of them. With that thought in 
 mind he began to run it over, then to read 
 it, divided between a sort of fascination that 
 it had for him and a sense of shame at re- 
 sorting to such a method of possibly obtain- 
 ing information as to her movements. 
 
 One evening Clarke, who had been skim- 
 ming the items carelessly, suddenly sat up 
 straight in his chair. His eyes were fixed 
 upon a paragraph that stood out as though 
 it had been printed in red ink. 
 
 " Senator Hooper gave a gay party Tues- 
 day night, at the Poodle Dog. His protegee, 
 the charming widow from somewhere to 
 the East of us, Mrs. Walter Willoughby, 
 made the big hit of the occasion. It is 
 whispered " 
 
 The words burned in Chester Clarke's 
 mind. Damn these whispering people! 
 What right had they to whisper about his 
 wife! 
 
 295
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 From that memorable evening Clarke 
 ceased to dodge the Golden Gate as he had 
 been doing. He yielded to its spell and 
 week after week sought it out and read 
 paragraphs like this : 
 
 "The Hawaiian party last night broke 
 all records for frolics in this frolicsome 
 Coast. Mrs. W. W., the heartbreaking 
 widow from the Sunflower State, again 
 carried off the laurels. A distinguished 
 former statesman of national reputation, 
 whom we need not name, scored another 
 triumph. His protegee, the lovely " and 
 so on, till Clarke could hardly read the 
 dancing letters for mingled sorrow and 
 anger. The wretched sheet had him in its 
 grip. It tortured him more when he did 
 not see it than when he had it in his hand. 
 What would it say next? No use telling 
 himself it really had said nothing, as yet. 
 The damnable insinuation of its clever word 
 juggling tormented him. Not that it in- 
 criminated Louise ! She was its victim. But 
 the insouciant deviltry of it, the libel against 
 mankind, the cynical reliance upon verbal 
 ambiguity, the defiance of that decency 
 which is not explicated in penal codes ! 
 
 And then a date caught his attention. 
 296
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 He copied out an item, and, hurrying back 
 to his rooms, feverishly turned over his 
 precious file of letters from Louise. Find- 
 ing the letter he sought, he sat staring at 
 it. The date it bore and the statement it 
 contained "I missed the nicest party last 
 night, staying at home to nurse Father " 
 were hopelessly belied by the record in the 
 Golden Gate. Had she misstated the fact? 
 Had the paper misprinted? Why, in the 
 Devil's name, should she misrepresent? 
 How could the paper err in so routine a 
 matter of its business? No need to follow 
 Clarke's mind in its tortuous way to the 
 cold conclusion that it was no concern of his, 
 that this was not a nettle he need grasp, or 
 could gain by grasping. "Trust and be 
 true ! " He would live up to the motto, what- 
 ever happened. 
 
 Finally the wretched business came to a 
 climax. One evening, seeking his paper, 
 he found it being passed from hand to hand. 
 The two or three men were amusing them- 
 selves over a picture. 
 
 " The female form at its divinest," said 
 one. 
 
 "Female form grotesque," growled a 
 misogynist. "It's only the draperies that 
 297
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 save it. A few dry goods work wonders," 
 added the cynic. 
 
 " Well," said another man, " I 'm hanged 
 if I believe the real Juno had anything on 
 this one ! " 
 
 "Neither of 'em had much on," said the 
 cynic. 
 
 Clarke tiptoed out of the room. 
 
 Half an hour later, when the group had 
 dispersed and the reading room had settled 
 down once more to its normal calm, he re- 
 turned. He picked up the Golden Gate, 
 and looked at the picture. 
 
 Of course it was Louise. She was 
 Juno a bold, dark, lovely goddess. 
 
 An article accompanied the picture, link- 
 ing with hers the Senator's name. The 
 writer insinuated the existence of a compact ; 
 the man's wealth and power, the woman's 
 beauty and power. Quid pro quo. There 
 was not a suggestion of anything "im- 
 moral." She was the old man's toy; and he 
 was her very useful patron, her " promoter." 
 
 It was almost farcical. Tragedy, in real 
 life, is. 
 
 Clarke went home and wrote a long letter 
 to Louise. He dragged his weary body to 
 bed; lay a long while thinking, then got up 
 298
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 and destroyed the letter. He would write 
 again in the morning, when he could think 
 better, and express himself more clearly and 
 calmly. 
 
 But in the morning came a letter from 
 Louise that changed the world for him. 
 
 299
 
 CHAPTER VH 
 
 OUISE wrote: 
 
 "SAN FRANCISCO, July , 19 . 
 " MY DEAE LOVE : 
 
 "I haven't slept any for three nights. 
 Last night I cried all the night long. I 
 cannot endure it any longer. I must write 
 and ask you to let me go. 
 
 " I love you just as much as I ever did. 
 I have always loved you. I shall always love 
 you, but it is never going to be possible for 
 me to do what you wish, to carry out the 
 plans that we have made ; there are too many 
 obstacles in the way. I could never do it 
 and be happy. If I tried, I should only 
 ruin your life and mine and make others 
 who are dependent upon me unhappy. I 
 could never make you a good wife. I am 
 very much out of health. I am all broken 
 down nervously. 
 
 " Then there are the children. They have 
 never been reconciled to the idea of my 
 marrying you. If they had been, I should 
 300
 
 have married you long ago. I have tried 
 oh, how hard I have tried to win Ernest 
 but he is impossible; he says that he won't 
 live in the house with us, that it is n't doing 
 right by his dead father, that I as good as 
 promised him on his deathbed that I would 
 not marry again, that I had always said I 
 would not marry unless he (Ernest) ap- 
 proved. 
 
 " The children have become attached to 
 this place, they are happy here, they don't 
 want to go away, they have made friends 
 here, they say they won't come East to live. 
 
 "Then there is my father my poor 
 father. He is feeble, so broken, and he clings 
 to me. He will go on suffering rather than 
 ask mother to do anything for him. How 
 could I desert him? It would be cruel. 
 Oh, how hard I have tried to find a way out ! 
 I have prayed and prayed for help. 
 
 "Now I must appeal to you you, my 
 love; you must help me, you must save me. 
 You have said you loved me as no man ever 
 loved a woman, that you would do anything 
 for my sake, would make any sacrifice. 
 Have n't you said so a hundred times, * any 
 sacrifice'? I think you once said 'even to 
 life itself.' This isn't quite so bad as that, 
 301
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 is it ? I never thought that I should put you 
 to the test, that I should ask you to give me 
 up, but it has come to that there is no 
 other way. 
 
 " Nobody knows of our true relations ex- 
 cept old Mrs. Giese, and she doesn't have 
 to be considered. She need never see you 
 and me again, and there is no one to whom 
 she would ever mention us. Of course if it 
 were worth the trouble I could disabuse her 
 mind of any ideas that might have lodged 
 there. She would do anything, or think any- 
 thing for me. She is old and feeble ; she will 
 soon be gone and the secret she has been 
 keeping for us will die with her. 
 
 " Now, dear, I do not mean to love you 
 less ; I never could if I should try. I never 
 want to, and I never want you to love me 
 less. I only want you because you do love 
 me enough, because you are big enough and 
 strong enough to make the sacrifice, to con- 
 sent to cancelling all our promises and plans. 
 Tell me that you will. Oh, how I shall love 
 you for it, and we shall be to one another 
 just as we always have been ! You will come 
 out to see us sometimes, and when I am East 
 I can let you know. 
 
 " God bless you, my beloved ! Though my 
 302
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 heart aches to breaking, it still says I love 
 you ! I love you ! ! I love you ! ! ! 
 
 "LouisE." 
 
 Clarke was in his private office alone when 
 he received this crushing blow. The con- 
 tents of all letters during the last month, 
 together with the excerpts of her activities 
 which he had read at his Club from the 
 Golden Gate, her failure to meet him when 
 East, had stirred him to the depths of his 
 soul, and filled him with ominous forebod- 
 ings, but he had not expected anything quite 
 so appalling as this. A certain numbness 
 of his faculties came over him. He felt 
 faint and dizzy. He could hear the click, 
 click of the typewriter in the main office, he 
 could see upon his desk the brief which he 
 had been working upon when the letter was 
 handed in, but he was powerless to con- 
 centrate his thoughts or control his faculties. 
 
 At length with a masterly effort he roused 
 himself, took his hat and coat and descended 
 to the street. He made his way up Court 
 Street to Tremont and along that thorough- 
 fare. The usual crowds were thronging the 
 sidewalk and the Mall, but he recognized no 
 one. Presently he found himself opposite 
 303
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 the Touraine. It was here that he had been 
 in the habit of coming for years for his hair- 
 cut. " Joe " had a wonderfully sympathetic 
 touch and in all these years he had come to 
 esteem him as a friend. He needed a friend 
 now, not one of his own set, but a man of 
 elemental parts. Besides, he was conscious 
 of a heavy throbbing in his head; and so 
 he found his way to the barbershop and 
 "Joe's "chair. 
 
 ' You are not looking well, Mr. Clarke," 
 said Joe, a kindly concern in his voice. 
 "What can I do for you?" 
 
 " Give my head a good rubbing; I have a 
 headache, I think." 
 
 That was all he remembered until he 
 found himself coming out of an unconscious 
 state, and recognized Joe bathing his face 
 with alcohol and holding a bottle to his nose. 
 
 " What has happened? " he inquired, with 
 a surprised expression. 
 
 ' You fainted," Joe said. " I saw that 
 you were not yourself today the moment 
 you came in." 
 
 Under Joe's ministrations he was grad- 
 ually brought around and after a time left 
 the hotel with his mental faculties once more 
 restored. 
 
 304
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 One after another the facts and circum- 
 stances which would have led a more sus- 
 picious man, or one possessing less faith, 
 to conclude that this letter, this evident de- 
 termination to repudiate her marriage con- 
 tract, was what might have been expected, 
 marshalled themselves in grim array. But 
 Chester Clarke was unconvinced. 
 
 His theory of life had been to trust peo- 
 ple, to believe every man innocent until he 
 had been proved guilty. Better, he had 
 said, to be deceived and betrayed now and 
 then, than to go through this world sus- 
 pecting everybody and standing on guard 
 against mankind. 
 
 He had given his all into this woman's 
 keeping. He would never break faith with 
 her, believing that she was equally true to 
 him and that nothing short of death itself 
 could separate them. 
 
 Her letter, he assured himself, must have 
 been written under some aberration of mind 
 or temporary discouragement. She would 
 recover from that and in another mood would 
 retract these words and beg his pardon for 
 having distressed him. He would get such 
 a letter by an early mail, and so reasoning, 
 he sent her a speedy reply: 
 305
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 " BOSTON, July , 19 . 
 " MY DEAR LOVE : 
 
 " I received your letter of the 12th. Of 
 course you do not mean what you have wrrt- 
 ten. My sweetheart is tired, ill, depressed, 
 something has gone wrong with her. Before 
 this letter has reached her she will be her old 
 self again and she will write me one of the 
 sweetest letters in the world. 
 
 " I am very much worried about you be- 
 cause I think you have been carrying too 
 much of a load. That matter of the will 
 has worn on you perhaps this is the reac- 
 tion. Now I have good broad shoulders 
 and you are to unload all of your troubles 
 onto me ; that is what a husband is for. I am 
 quite sure that Ernest would not stand in 
 the way of your happiness if he fully real- 
 ized the gravity of such an attitude. When 
 we are once settled in Boston and he has 
 taken on new interests has entered a 
 school preparatory for college he will see 
 things from an entirely different point of 
 view; and what better place is there than 
 Boston in which to have a girl grow up ? 
 
 "As a last resort, assuming that there 
 were no other solution, I should be willing 
 to pull up stakes here and settle in San 
 306
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 Francisco. It would have to be with the 
 understanding, however, that I was to pur- 
 sue the same course of life there as here. I 
 should open an office and begin the practice 
 of law over again. I am too much wedded 
 to my profession and work to be contented 
 with an idle existence. With my New Eng- 
 land training, I couldn't brook anything 
 less. 
 
 " Have a stout heart, my Beloved. We 
 will find a way or make one. 
 
 " Ever your devoted, 
 
 " CHESTER." 
 
 Men are apt to think that the things they 
 desire will really come to pass. For ten days 
 Chester Clarke sought out every mail for 
 the letter that never came. The reply which 
 his appeal did receive ran as follows : 
 
 " SAN FRANCISCO, July , 19 . 
 " MY DEAR CHESTER : 
 
 " How difficult it seems for you to under- 
 stand me! How hard you make it for me! 
 I have tried to have you realize that I can- 
 not carry out our plans, and I have appealed 
 to the great love you professed for me as 
 an assurance of your assent to my deter- 
 mination. You have failed me! 
 307
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 " It is useless for us to enter into a con- 
 troversy over the matter. Do let us part 
 at least as friends if we cannot as lovers. 
 I wish you all the happiness that can possibly 
 come to one in this world. You are free. 
 Some day you will find a woman who will 
 take my place in your affections. I shall 
 never marry. Do not think that you alone 
 are to suffer. I would spare you if I could. 
 
 " Goodbye. 
 
 "LOUISE." 
 
 308
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 ; XT' OU have failed me!" It would be of 
 J[ no avail to parley any further ; Chester 
 Clarke realized that. The temple of his 
 hopes had fallen, burying him beneath its 
 ruins, but he had dug himself out and now 
 sat looking about. 
 
 There was no human eye to cast a glance 
 of pity, no human hand extended to help 
 him rise, no human tongue to speak a word 
 of counsel. He was alone alone to con- 
 template the ruins, to work out his own 
 salvation; and not his alone but that of the 
 woman who sought to throw him over. 
 
 It was a simple matter to interpret the 
 situation. Louise had loved him; she had 
 loved him to the full capacity of her being 
 to love any one man. When she had met 
 him she was hungry for just such an affec- 
 tion as he had to offer. As a corollary to 
 that affection stood all the inducements of 
 a life in a cultured city and in the social 
 set in which Clarke moved. In comparison 
 with the condition of her previous mar- 
 309
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 ried life in Topeka, nothing could be more 
 desirable. 
 
 There was no obstacle to this end that 
 was not temporary and that could not be 
 overcome. Had her parents remained in 
 Kansas all would have been well. The love 
 of admiration, praise, and social recognition 
 which was both inherent in her nature and 
 essential to her happiness, might have 
 been gratified in Boston within reasonable 
 bounds. But her experiences in California, 
 the sensuous character of the climate and 
 life, the adulation with which she had been 
 received, the luxury of the new house, had 
 entered into her veins and like a prairie fire 
 had swept all before it. 
 
 Under the influence of this spell she now 
 proposed to Clarke to treat their secret and 
 informal marriage as if it had never been, 
 and she had relied upon Clarke's great love 
 for her and upon his sense of chivalry, as she 
 interpreted chivalry, to keep the secret and 
 permit her to pursue the alluring tenor of 
 her ways. And he had told her he would 
 make any sacrifice for her! 
 
 What duty did he owe her? This was the 
 question which his New England conscience 
 put to him. This was the question that cost 
 310
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 him several days and nights of agony and 
 doubt, and that caused him at last to write : 
 
 " MY DEAR LOUISE : 
 
 "I received your ultimatum of July 
 and I have a counter statement to submit. 
 
 " I have thus far appealed to your affec- 
 tions and to the higher sentiments of your 
 nature, as to what I felt certain would be 
 the sure guides to your conduct, but I seem 
 to have appealed in vain. 
 
 "It is with extreme reluctance and only 
 as a last resort that I am now forced to con- 
 sider our relations from a different stand- 
 point. Would to God that you had not 
 forced me to it ! You propose to ignore our 
 marriage relations, and you ask me to do 
 the same. I reply that that is impossible. 
 A common law marriage is just as binding 
 yes, more binding, more sacred, than a 
 public one, and for the reason that it de- 
 pends for its sanctity upon the honor and 
 good faith of those who enter into it. 
 
 " Neither you nor I can annul it. It has 
 passed beyond our control into the jurisdic- 
 tion of the law. I could n't consent to your 
 repudiating it even if I were disposed to 
 do so, which I am not. I shall never lend 
 311
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 myself to such a suggestion, no matter what 
 the results. You must acknowledge our 
 union or by some method I shall promul- 
 gate it. 
 
 "I cannot compel you to live with me, 
 nor do I wish to against your desire. I 
 should love to have you, if you come will- 
 ingly. You may, at some future day if you 
 wish, bring proceedings in court to annul 
 our marriage. That is the only way that is 
 open to you. I shall give you an oppor- 
 tunity to reconsider your decision, and to 
 write me to that effect. If I do not hear 
 from you within two weeks, I shall feel at 
 liberty to adopt such a course of action as 
 my judgment dictates. In the meantime, 
 I remain ready to accept any plan that is in 
 consonance with this letter. 
 
 " There is no bitterness in my heart, only 
 sorrow that our beautiful bark should be 
 so near the rocks. 
 
 "May I suggest that you consult your 
 father and mother and any other trusted 
 counselor available. 
 
 "Yours devotedly, 
 
 " CHESTER." 
 
 This precipitated an exchange of letters 
 and telegrams in the following order: 
 312
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 " SAN FRANCISCO, July , 19 . 
 " CHESTER CLARKE, ESQ. 
 " State Street, Boston. 
 
 " I suppose you think to compel me either 
 to announce our ceremony in New York 
 as our marriage or go through a public cele- 
 bration out here. 
 
 "And to what purpose? Is it simply to 
 confirm an idea of your own, or is it deliber- 
 ately to ruin my life and make my children 
 wretched? I couldn't drag them East and 
 I don't see where you fit in out here cer- 
 tainly not in this house. 
 
 " Considering that you are altogether to 
 blame, responsible for the existing condi- 
 tions, I should think that you would be just 
 a little ashamed to take advantage of them 
 to coerce me. My conscience is perfectly 
 clear in this matter and I am praying and 
 putting my trust in God. He will not for- 
 sake me. 
 
 " I am not decided, as yet, whether I shall 
 show your letter to my father and mother, 
 or tell you to go ahead and do your worst. 
 In whatever I do I shall be guided by the 
 children's best interests and mine. 
 
 "L." 
 313
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 " SAN FRANCISCO, July , 19 . 
 " CHESTER CLARKE, ESQ. 
 
 " State Street, Boston. 
 "Delay taking any action. I am reply- 
 ing to your last letter to Louise. 
 
 "HANNAH MALSBY." 
 
 "SAN FRANCISCO, July , 19 . 
 " CHESTER CLARKE, ESQ. 
 
 " State Street, Boston. 
 "SiR: 
 
 " How could you write such a letter to my 
 daughter as you have you who profess to 
 be a Boston gentleman? What has she done 
 to you that you should be so cruel to her? 
 I shouldn't suppose that any man would 
 want to force a woman to live with him 
 against her will. And how could you have 
 the heart to attempt to blacken her charac- 
 ter? You will not succeed in it. She 
 has never done you any harm. You have 
 brought nothing but misery into this family. 
 My husband is ill and Louise has been made 
 prostrate by this blow. 
 
 " HANNAH MALSBY." 
 
 " BOSTON, July , 19 . 
 " DEAR MRS. MALSBY : 
 
 "Your letter has been received. 
 314
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 "I am not attempting to sully your 
 daughter's character, I am attempting to 
 save it. She will not deny the relations ex- 
 isting between us which my letter to her 
 discloses. It would be useless to do so. No 
 one could regret more than I do that any 
 unhappiness should be brought upon you 
 and Mr. Malsby. 
 
 " My decision is unalterable. 
 
 ;< Yours very sincerely, 
 
 " CHESTER CLARKE." 
 
 " SAN FRANCISCO, July , 19 . 
 " CHESTER CLARKE, ESQ. 
 
 " State Street, Boston. 
 " Consider everything restored to our 
 former understanding. Will meet you at 
 Old Curiosity Shop, Wednesday, July . 
 
 "LouisE." 
 
 Chester Clarke had arrived in New York. 
 It was the day before his tryst with Louise. 
 He had gone down a day in advance to 
 transact some business and to spend the 
 night at the Lawyers Club, where he was to 
 dine with a friend. 
 
 The two had sat up well into the night in 
 an atmosphere surcharged with the ele- 
 315
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 ments of the law. Pictures of distinguished 
 English and American Judges and of his- 
 torical scenes hung upon the walls. There 
 was the Trial of Warren Hastings, the Trial 
 of Jeanne d'Arc, the Trial of Charlotte Cor- 
 day, and half a dozen others. 
 
 The conversation of the men about them 
 was heavy with legal phraseology. 
 
 At length Clarke had bade his friend 
 good night and retired to his room, glad to 
 be alone while his subconscious mind was 
 dwelling constantly upon Louise and their 
 coming meeting with its uncertain outcome. 
 He lay awake for some time, turning the 
 situation over and wondering whether she 
 had had a real awakening, whether she still 
 loved him, whether a happy married life 
 would still be possible. 
 
 At length he slept, for two or three hours 
 perhaps; and then there was a moment of 
 confusion and he found himself sitting up 
 in bed and staring wildly about, trying to 
 recall where he was, for he had come out of 
 a most realistic dream. 
 
 Had it been a dream or a vision? He 
 
 seemed to have been in a court room, lofty 
 
 and spacious. He sat at a table within the 
 
 bar. On the wall above the Judge's bench 
 
 316
 
 was a coat of arms and on it the motto, 
 " Eureka." He remembered distinctly hav- 
 ing read that. At a table on the right side 
 of the enclosure Louise sat with her counsel. 
 The room was crowded with an audience 
 mostly of fashionably dressed women. At 
 a long table just without the bar sat a row 
 of newspaper reporters, one of whom, a 
 woman, he could see was making a sketch of 
 Louise. 
 
 He turned to look at the man beside him ; 
 it was his old college friend, Triggs 
 Triggs who had opened a law office in San 
 Francisco twenty years before and who had 
 won fame in one of the Lucky Baldwin 
 will cases. 
 
 A door beside the bench opened and the 
 Judge was ushered in. There was an air 
 of expectancy in the faces of all present. 
 He took his seat, and after a moment or two 
 devoted to wiping and adjusting his spec- 
 tacles, he began to read: 
 
 " In the case of Chester Clarke vs. Clara 
 Louise Clarke, Petition for the Annulment 
 of a Marriage Contract, the Court finds 
 
 " In the case of Chester Clarke vs. Clara 
 Louise Clarke, Petition for the Annulment 
 of a Marriage contract, the Court finds 
 317
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 " here Clarke was able to recall the next 
 words: "that a Common Law marriage in 
 New York is any mutual agreement be- 
 tween the parties to be husband and wife." 
 
 " In the case of Chester Clarke vs. Clara 
 Louise Clarke, Petition for the Annulment 
 of a Marriage Contract, the Court finds 
 he said it over and over again, trying to re- 
 member what more the Court had found, 
 what it was the Judge had said. It was not 
 a long opinion. He was sure of that be- 
 cause it was all over so soon. The whole 
 scene of his dream could not have taken over 
 'five minutes. He had awakened as the 
 Judge rose to leave the bench. 
 
 " Chester Clarke vs. Clara Louise 
 Clarke." He was the plaintiff, then; he 
 was the petitioner for the annulment of 
 their marriage. Now he recalled how sur- 
 prised he had been to find himself in court 
 seeking to annul their marriage. It seemed 
 to him that it was the last thing he would 
 be doing. The Judge had dismissed the bill 
 and there was something about costs, the 
 Costs of Court. He had lost his case, evi- 
 dently, if the bill was dismissed. 
 
 Clarke went over the whole scene again, 
 step by step, making a supreme effort to 
 318
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 concentrate his mind and bring back the 
 Judge's words. He failed, save and except 
 that a statute, some statute, had figured in 
 the finding; it had something to do with 
 the Judge's decision. It must have been 
 the ground for dismissing the bill. But 
 what statute? Could there be one affecting 
 his petition for the annulment of a marriage 
 at common law? 
 
 "Good God," he cried, "could there be 
 one that had made his marriage to Louise 
 null and void ! " 
 
 The thought was intolerable. He jumped 
 from his bed and hastened to the open win- 
 dow. Gradually the vision faded and real- 
 ity took its place. 
 
 The first gray streaks of the dawn were 
 in the sky. They touched the higher points 
 of the city buildings while the streets them- 
 selves still lay in shadow. 
 
 Clarke heard the rattling of a passing 
 vehicle in the street far below; there were 
 other sounds that heralded the coming day, 
 but the voice of the Judge in his dream was 
 still in his ear. 
 
 A shiver ran through him. The morning 
 air was chill and he returned to bed. He lay 
 there trying to collect his thoughts. 
 319
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 That a common law marriage any mu- 
 tual agreement between the parties to be hus- 
 band and wife in prcesenti had been legal 
 in New York for many years, he knew by a 
 number of decisions of the State Courts, but 
 a statute might well have been passed by the 
 legislature and his attention never have been 
 called to it. No lawyer pretended to know 
 the statute law of any State except his own, 
 and even in his own State a statute might 
 well have escaped his notice. Such a con- 
 tingency had not occurred to him. He 
 would know the truth the first thing in the 
 morning. 
 
 The opening of the Law Library found 
 him at the door. 
 
 He took down a codification of the Acts 
 of the Legislature and ran through them in 
 feverish haste. Sure enough, there it was; 
 and as he read it, section by section, he was 
 made aware that the learned Judge of his 
 vision dream trance call it what you 
 will, had quoted correctly. 
 
 It provided that a marriage, in order to 
 be legal, must be solemnized before a clergy- 
 man, minister, leader of The Society for 
 Ethical Culture, Mayor, Judge of a Court 
 of Record and various other officials, or be 
 320
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 entered into by written contract with two 
 witnesses and acknowledged before a Judge 
 of a Court of Record. 
 
 Hence Louise was not his wife in the 
 contemplation of the law! For a moment 
 he was startled, almost shocked, at the 
 thought, but he rallied quickly, for his con- 
 science was absolutely clear in the matter. 
 Each had entered into the contract, such as 
 it was, freely and believing beyond doubt 
 that it made them man and wife. There had 
 therefore been no intentional violation of 
 the moral code. As for the rest, had he 
 not been hoping, praying, demanding that 
 their marriage be made public ? Was there 
 less reason for him to do so now? 
 
 But what of Louise? How would she 
 treat such a piece of information? She had 
 telegraphed him that their relations were 
 restored, which, in the light of his demands, 
 must have meant that she would yield to 
 them. It only remained to decide when and 
 how. 
 
 If he told her, would it change her atti- 
 tude? He failed to see why it should, 
 further than to make her insistent that a 
 public ceremony should take place as a con- 
 firmation of her own good faith, and the in- 
 321
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 surance of her honor. If, upon their meet- 
 ing, there was a complete reconciliation and 
 understanding and she proposed to arrange 
 at once for a public wedding, would he not 
 be justified in withholding this information 
 as something that at best-would only tend to 
 distress her, and to no purpose? 
 
 And here again the New England con- 
 science and sense of duty came into its own. 
 
 To withhold would be to conceal some- 
 thing that she had the right to know, no 
 matter if the only result was a negative one, 
 so Clarke started for the Old Curiosity Shop 
 resolved to tell her. 
 
 322
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 MERE existence may be measured satis- 
 factorily in terms of time, but for 
 living there is no adequate method of men- 
 suration save by units of experience. Forty 
 years of placid being may leave the rustic's 
 poll thatch unflecked with white, while in as 
 many hours the savior or the wrecker 
 of a nation becomes bowed and gray as if 
 broken by the weight of years. In the crises 
 of life an hour, a day, a week may pass like 
 a moment; and a moment may enfold an 
 eternity in the history of a soul. 
 
 Chester Clarke was now engulfed in one 
 of these undimensioned deeps of experience. 
 Physical facts were without his conscious 
 ken, his actions and reactions were auto- 
 matic responses to the stimuli of various 
 contacts with the material world about him. 
 He dwelt in a timeless universe of the mind. 
 
 His whole conscious being centered upon 
 one thing, the crisis in his relations with 
 Lou fee, and here it was acutely conscious 
 it was, in fact, one clear, white flame of con- 
 sciousness. He moved in the light of a 
 323
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 lambent love. His spirit had found its 
 mate; some factor in the chemistry of souls 
 had prevented the blend of the affinitive ele- 
 ments, and he must make this last endeavor 
 to eliminate that factor from the formula. 
 
 That it would be the last endeavor there 
 could be no doubt. In this interview there 
 could be no equivocation, no concealment, 
 no evasion. The husks of pretense and mis- 
 understanding must be stripped off and cast 
 aside, and the inner kernel of truth exposed. 
 
 If he found his hopes had been false ; if it 
 were the fact that he had mistaken tinsel for 
 pure metal: what then? Clarke confronted 
 this possibility with firm self-control. That 
 he could admit its possibility showed how 
 deep were the black waters into which he had 
 been plunged. Admitting it, he proved his 
 mettle by characteristically ignoring the ex- 
 istence of such means of escape as have 
 often, in similar circumstances, revealed 
 themselves temptingly to men of softer 
 substance. He recognized the possibility of 
 great grief ahead ; but his thoughts took no 
 tinge of the color of despair. He had a 
 woman's sensitiveness to pain, but he had 
 also the courage of a truly strong man. 
 
 In such a state of mind Clarke went to 
 324
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 meet Louise, externally calm and controlled, 
 but buffeted and bruised by cruel fore- 
 bodings. 
 
 He came to the Giese house. Its front 
 was a little more dingy, its external premise 
 of internal dilapidation a little more unmis- 
 takable. The shingle that commemorated 
 the vocation of the departed Hans was shab- 
 bier, and hung on a slant, sharing the preva- 
 lent decay. What an odd asylum for the 
 remnant of Chester Clarke's hopes! He 
 did not stop to frame a wish forf ending the 
 omen, but went steadily up the steps and 
 rang the bell. 
 
 Mrs. Giese came to the door. She had not 
 changed. She was evidently lingering on, 
 buoyed on the lonely sea of her life by the 
 one animating purpose of her existence; to 
 keep things just as they were, just as old 
 Hans had left them. 
 
 She wasted no words in greeting. She 
 was expecting Clarke. 
 
 "Come in, sir," she said. "Your wife 
 is in her old room; she is not well, she is a 
 sick lady. Everything is just as it was." 
 
 The words echoed in the gloomy hall: 
 "Just as it was." And as Clarke passed 
 through the apartment, the walls gave forth 
 325
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 the same faint odor of mouldy age, the par- 
 lor revealed to his passing glance the same 
 musty array of useless antiquities, every- 
 thing was "just as it had been." Every- 
 thing? At the door to Louise's room 
 he paused a moment: Everything? He 
 went in. 
 
 Louise was in bed. Her dark hair lay in 
 loose masses over the pillow. In the dim 
 light she seemed wan and worn. He was 
 sure that she had been crying; she, who was 
 so strong, so imperiously resolute in refusing 
 to be battered by the adversities of fate! 
 A great wave of pity swept over him. 
 
 "Louise!" he called: and, kneeling by 
 the bed, as once she had knelt by his, he put 
 his arms about her and whispered words of 
 endearment. 
 
 She lay a moment in his embrace, arid it 
 seemed to him that even yet all must be well, 
 the bad dream come to an end. 
 
 Then she withdrew herself, and let her 
 head fall back upon the pillow. For a mo- 
 ment she shook with soundless sobbing, and 
 Clarke felt the agonies that can rend a 
 strong man's soul. 
 
 " Oh, Chester," she cried, " how could you 
 do it, how could you do it! " 
 326
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 The words brought him back suddenly to 
 the world of realities. The problem had not 
 been dissipated in the flood of tender feeling. 
 There was love in her reception of his greet- 
 ing; her action had been too swift and sure 
 to be premeditated, to be anything but the 
 spontaneous expression of her nature. He 
 steeled himself for the battle with the cruel 
 thing that lay back of this strange, obstinate 
 denial of the true self made manifest in her 
 first, natural act. 
 
 He arose, and seated himself in a chair 
 a few feet away. It was like moving out of 
 the territory of the heart into the colder 
 region of the brain. And he felt that Louise 
 also recognized the change, and was meeting 
 it with a corresponding mental shift. 
 
 " Now," he said, steadily enough, " we 
 have got to settle this thing. We're at a 
 fork in the road, Louise, and we've got to 
 decide which way we're going to travel 
 and whether we go together, or " he hesi- 
 tated ever so slightly, then went on firmly 
 " or whether we take separate ways." 
 
 " It depends very largely on you." She 
 spoke in a monotone, without inflection. 
 
 "Louise!" 
 
 "Yes. You have created this situation. 
 327
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 Why did you do it? When I was so happy, 
 when things were going so nicely! Why 
 could you not wait " 
 
 " I did wait! I have waited, and waited, 
 and waited. I have accepted one postpone- 
 ment after another. I did not like the 
 secret engagement " 
 
 "Why did you accept it, then?" 
 
 " I accepted it for your sake. I accepted 
 it for the children's sake. And, having ac- 
 cepted it, I stood by the agreement faith- 
 fully, as long as the circumstances that 
 brought it about continued to exist. But 
 when the will was made, when the children 
 were provided for and had been won over to 
 the idea of our marriage, when every obstacle 
 had been removed, then it became unjust 
 and unreasonable for you to require me to 
 go on waiting, and then I asked for an early 
 date for our public wedding 
 
 "But, Chester, I have told you why it 
 could not be ! Mother Willoughby still had 
 power to cut the children off Ernest was 
 not really reconciled to my remarrying 
 father was not well I was so settled in 
 California, and so far, in every way, from 
 Boston I did not want to marry you till 
 everything was right." 
 328
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 "To marry me!" Clarke repeated, "we 
 were married, or at least we believed we 
 were." Clarke made the last statement with 
 so strange an inflection, it carried such an 
 implication of doubt that Louise was startled 
 into the suspicion of something under the 
 surface of his words. 
 
 " Why do you speak in that queer way?" 
 she asked. 
 
 "Queer way?" he repeated the words 
 automatically. Then he spoke, with close 
 attention to his own choice of words : 
 
 "Louise, listen carefully to what I have 
 to tell you. Our fate depends on what you 
 make of it. 
 
 " I wrote you that we were married in the 
 sight of God and man, that our wedding 
 was a holy sacrament, and a legal bond." 
 
 She sat up in bed and stared at him. For 
 the settlement of any issue less vital, the 
 scene would have made a grotesque setting. 
 But neither of the protagonists had heed 
 for such matters. 
 
 " Well ? " she said. The hardly restrained 
 eagerness in her voice hurt Clarke through 
 and through. It was crucifixion for him. 
 
 "Well," he said heavily, "in my view 
 then, ever since, and ever more that cere- 
 329
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 mony, in this house, before the altar you had 
 made, bound you to me and me to you with 
 a tie as sacred and indissoluble as any vow 
 ever registered at any altar of Almighty 
 God." 
 
 He spoke with deep earnestness. His 
 voice and air were those of a prophet whose 
 words were winged with inspiration. 
 
 " As long as I live, and whatever happens, 
 you are, you shall be, the wife of my heart. 
 Nothing can rob me of that belief." 
 
 He fell back into a more prosaic utterance. 
 
 " Now for the crux of it all. I believed 
 that we were legally married. I supposed, 
 with a perfect honesty you will not wish 
 or dare to impugn, that the common law 
 marriage still held good in New York. 
 I have only just discovered that I was 
 wrong; that a statute has been passed an- 
 nulling such marriages, that there must be 
 a contract, legally executed. 
 
 " In one word," he concluded, " I have 
 learned what does not change my own 
 conviction but does undeniably alter the 
 legal quality of our relations I have 
 learned" (it took supreme courage to pro- 
 nounce the words) "that you and I are not 
 married in the eye of the law " 
 330
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 "Oh, Chester!" she cried. "Then you 
 have no hold on me! Oh, how " 
 
 She stopped, perhaps with surprise at the 
 change in his face, perhaps with pity. 
 
 Chester Clarke sat like a man waiting for 
 the fall of the dagger in the hand of a trusted 
 friend, as Caesar may have looked at Brutus, 
 not resisting, but numbed with horror. 
 
 He pulled himself together. He was pale, 
 his face was drawn, but he spoke calmly. 
 
 "If you feel that way, it is indeed the 
 end. I would have won you back, if my 
 understanding of the law had proved correct. 
 I would not have let you go by God, I 
 would not! I would have saved you from 
 yourself" he spoke more quietly again 
 " I would have saved you, Louise, from 
 what I now see you mean to do. I would 
 have saved your happiness, and mine." 
 
 He paused. She lay back on the pillow 
 again, weak in reaction from the great stress 
 of emotion, but, as he saw with cruel clear- 
 ness, rejoicing in the prospect of " freedom " 
 so easily attainable. 
 
 For three or four minutes no word more 
 was said. 
 
 Then Clarke stood up, and looking 
 squarely at her, with his hands clasped 
 331
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 tightly behind his back, in a pose character- 
 istic of him. as a pleader, he said: 
 
 "Louise, what is your decision? It must 
 be given now, once and for all. I shall not 
 hold you, shall not try to hold you, if you 
 say you wish to go free. But for God's 
 sake, for my sake and for your own, be 
 careful what you say! There can be no re- 
 consideration. Will you marry me now 
 or" 
 
 His brave voice broke. 
 
 He read his fate in her face. The dream 
 was over. His idol was shattered. His 
 sweet cup of love was turned to poison. 
 
 She had the grace not to speak. She 
 simply turned away her lovely head. 
 
 Clarke made no sound of grief. It was 
 his soul that groaned, inaudibly. 
 
 He took her hand, that lay on the outside 
 of the bed. He carried it tenderly to his 
 lips, and held it there long and with pas- 
 sionate pressure. 
 
 Still no word escaped his lips, no groan 
 was wrung from his heart of agony. But his 
 body trembled pitifully. 
 
 At last he arose. 
 
 The room was very dim and still. 
 
 He spoke, softly, yearningly, but with an 
 332
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 impressive finality. Just two words, but 
 they set the seal of irrevocable renunciation 
 upon the love-life of Chester Clarke. 
 " Goodbye, Louise ! " 
 
 Walking in the park, hours afterward, a 
 man, calm enough to all appearances but 
 actually just emerging from the dark depths 
 of a maelstrom of suffering, stood in the 
 moonlight atop a little knoll and, raising his 
 hand like one who takes a solemn oath, pro- 
 nounced these words in a voice vibrant with 
 mingled passion and resolve : 
 
 " I am the master of my fate 
 I am the captain of my soul." 
 
 And Chester Clarke went forth to meet 
 his future, well aware of its difficulties, 
 but consciously strong to bear the burden, 
 and never to turn back to the closed pages 
 hi the book of his life. 
 
 333
 
 EPILOGUE 
 
 ON a certain day of July in 19 , a man 
 stopped in front of a beautiful place 
 in the most exclusive residential section of 
 San Francisco. In the midst of spacious 
 grounds, embowered with flowering shrubs 
 and trees, stood a splendid house. It was 
 built of white stucco, in mission style, and 
 its porches and balconies, shaded but airy, 
 and its many vine-framed and sun-screened 
 windows, gave promise of very comfortable 
 living for those who called it home. 
 
 The man was tall and distinguished in 
 appearance. A student of mankind would 
 have looked at him a second time in any 
 gathering, so clear a story was recorded, in 
 his strong features, of a struggle with fate 
 and a conquest of hostile circumstances. 
 After a few minutes he arrested an old 
 gentleman who happened to be passing, with 
 the inquiry: 
 
 "Can you tell me, sir, to whom this 
 beautiful house belongs? It is unusually 
 attractive." 
 
 334
 
 EPILOGUE 
 
 " With pleasure," replied the old gentle- 
 man. "I'm glad you like it, for we are 
 quite proud of it. In fact, it is one of our 
 show places all the sight-seeing autos stop 
 in front of it and the lecturer has a word to 
 say of the charming widow who lives there." 
 
 The stranger acknowledged the informa- 
 tion with a slight bow. 
 
 " The place, sir," continued the old gentle- 
 man, "is called by us San Franciscans the 
 Alhambra. It is the home of hospitality; it 
 is the citadel of charity and religion; it is 
 the shrine of music, the temple of art and 
 literature; it is the house of mirth." 
 
 "Indeed!" exclaimed the stranger. "I 
 did not suppose you could crowd so much 
 under one roof outside a bon marche, but I 
 could believe that house capable of almost 
 anything." 
 
 "That house," said the gentleman, "was 
 built by an old fellow from Kansas who had 
 retired from business. He had a lovely 
 daughter, a widow, who took the Coast by 
 storm and became creme de la creme of our 
 society. Her career was wonderful. I can 
 take a little personal pride in it, since I 
 might be said to have been the architect of 
 her fortunes." 
 
 335
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 " How was that? " asked the stranger with 
 increased interest. 
 
 "Well, I have a good deal, quite a good 
 deal, of influence out this way. I control the 
 San Francisco Blade. I made the discovery 
 a good many years ago, or perhaps I in- 
 vented the formula, that in proportion to 
 the space that a woman commanded in an 
 American newspaper was her social status 
 determined, if the thing was handled right 
 tactfully, you understand. It is an art, Sir, 
 and I have mastered it." 
 
 " I was charmed with this lady. I had no 
 daughter of my own, and I unofficially 
 adopted her. I determined to put my for- 
 mula into operation to boom her. It 
 was n't much different from booming a gold 
 mine or a seaside resort. The principle is 
 the same, and I had the goods. She was a 
 beauty, she had money, she had brains, and 
 she aspired to shine. 
 
 " First it was a notice of her dinner party, 
 then her picture in a fetching gown, then a 
 word of speculation as to what her next 
 triumph would be. 
 
 " It worked, sir. It worked to a charm. 
 More than that, my methods seem to have 
 met a long felt want, for they have been 
 336
 
 EPILOGUE 
 
 adopted in the East; in fact, are fast be- 
 coming a national institution. 
 
 'Your grandmother, young man, might 
 have shrunk from such publicity, but a ' bud ' 
 would never bloom in these days unless she 
 was exposed, at least once a month during 
 the season, to the sunshine of newspaper 
 publicity. 
 
 " But to return to what I was telling you 
 of the beautiful widow she was born to 
 command adulation, praise, and the power 
 which money brings. She revelled in the 
 social struggle which she entered against all 
 comers and she won. In fact, she has carried 
 her success so far that she has turned the 
 tables on the newspapers. No newspaper 
 would be in the running without the story 
 of her doings. 
 
 " Her social functions must be followed 
 and reported, the size of her contributions to 
 charitable and religious enterprises must be 
 stated, since they set the pace for others to 
 follow. 
 
 " She is a patron of music. She has put 
 a dozen aspirants in the way of a successful 
 music career. The budding poet and artist 
 find refuge under the shadow of her wings. 
 She is a devoted church- woman. A mission 
 337
 
 THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY 
 
 chapel stands in the Sand Lots, as a me- 
 morial to her father. The priest and the 
 reformer are beholden to her bounty. The 
 poor are never turned away from her door 
 empty-handed, and the ' four hundred ' have 
 named her place the house of mirth. All of 
 this and more the newspapers have duly re- 
 ported and enlarged upon. 
 
 " Theoretically, a woman having every- 
 thing in the world to make her happy and 
 with no man to dominate her ought to be 
 miserable, perfectly miserable; but you see, 
 this one is n't. I '11 be sworn, she is n't. 
 Quite the contrary; she is happy, radiantly 
 happy, because she is constantly in the lime- 
 light and she revels in her power." 
 
 "And the lady's name, sir?" asked the 
 stranger. 
 
 "Oh, yes, the lady's name! The name is 
 Mrs. Walter Willoughby. You must have 
 heard it." 
 
 'Yes, I have I have heard it." 
 
 " Perhaps you have met her? " asked the 
 old man "very lovely " 
 
 ' Yes," said the stranger, "I I think I 
 met her once. That was some time ago. 
 The house seems closed." 
 
 " Yes, she is abroad," replied the elderly 
 338
 
 EPILOGUE 
 
 man, "in London. She has just been pre- 
 sented at Court. The newspapers gave a 
 column to her gown, all cabled across at 
 twenty-five cents a word." 
 
 He paused a moment in reflection, then 
 said: 
 
 " She has reached the goal she set for her- 
 self, the highest pinnacle of social greatness." 
 
 Leaving San Francisco, the stranger 
 apostrophized the city: 
 
 " Serene, indifferent of fate 
 Thou sittest at the Western gate." 
 
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