They drifted on in silence. There was a faint ripple at the prow and that was all. At last Mason roused himself to say his word.
"All these intangible essences and powers are no apparent reason why I should do so foolish a thing—but they have influenced me. Today I wrote to our coolly girl—I hope to say my coolly girl."
Isabel caught her breath:
"Warren, did you? I'm very glad. If I could reach you I'd shake your hand."
"I don't rejoice. This thing which boys and girls find easy I find each year more difficult, quite equal to the revolution of the earth—perhaps the girl will save me from myself."
"She'll save you for yourself, and you'll be happy."
"It is impossible to say," he said sombrely. "I have warned her fairly. Once I should not have warned the woman of my choice. Am I gaining in humanity or losing? Please lower your head, I am going to tack."
The boat swung about like a sleeping gull, and the sail slowly filled, and the ripple at the prow began again.
After a little Mason went on in a calm, even voice:
"The world to me is not well governed and I hesitate about marriage, for it has the effect, in most cases, of perpetuating the human species, which is not as yet a noble business. I am torn by two minds. I don't appear to be torn by even one mind, but I am. I am convinced that Rose has imagination, which is in my eyes the chief thing in a wife. It enables her to idealize me"—there was a touch of his usual humor in that—"and fills me with alleged desire to possess her, but it is sad business for her, Isabel. When I think of her I am of the stature of a thief, crouching for concealment."