"Sixty, last month."
"Many men, at your age, have only started to live. Let the young ones go their ways—the next generation will take them, fast enough. You prefer a quiet existence—very well, have it; it will not interfere with them. You have been living to yourself so long, with but one idea, that you have become obsessed by it. Live now for your own enjoyment—forget all else."
"When a man has lived his life for a single end, and, at sixty, has seen that end attained, there is not time to start with a new one. I am not morbid—on the contrary, I am supremely happy to have accomplished my life's aim, or nearly it. If I were convinced that my death is necessary to perfect success, I would be willing to die. That is what I mean, sir—that is what I hold to."
"And that is why you have won out!" exclaimed Parkington. "You contemplated only success, never failure."
"No, I never thought of failure," said Marbury; "it was not in the problem."
There was silence for a time. Presently, the Englishman spoke.
"Since you have honored me, thus far," he said, "I am, I hope, committing no impropriety if I ask one question."
"Ask on, sir," replied Marbury, "I have told you what I have told no other—it will do no harm to tell you something more."
"You spoke of marriage," said Parkington. "Has anything been—arranged, as to either?"