In the early spring, Urias appeared in Rome. He explained that he'd left the military academy in the hands of subordinates, and was coming down to see about raising a milita force of Romans, which had been another of Padway's ideas. But he had an unhappy, hangdog air that made Padway suspect that that wasn't the real reason.
To Padway's leading questions he finally burst out: "Excellent Martinus, you'll simply have to give me a command somewhere away from Ravenna. I can't stand it any longer."
Padway put his arm around Urias' shoulders. "Come on, old man, tell me what is bothering you. Maybe I can help."
Urias looked at the ground. "Uh . . . well . . . that is—Look here, just what is the arrangement between you and Mathaswentha?"
"I thought that was it. You've been seeing her, haven't you?"
"Yes, I have. And if you send me back there, I shall see her some more in spite of myself. Are you and she betrothed, or what?"
"I did have some such idea once." Padway put on the air of one about to make a great sacrifice. "But, my friend, I wouldn't stand in the way of anybody's happiness. I'm sure you're much better suited to her than I. My work keeps me too busy to make a good husband. So if you want to sue for her hand, go to it, with my blessing."
"You mean that?" Urias jumped up and began pacing the floor, fairly beaming. "I . . . I don't know how to thank you . . . it's the greatest thing you could do for me . . . I'm your friend for Me—"
"Don't mention it; I'm glad to help you out. But now that you're down here, you might as well finish the job you came to do."
"Oh," said Urias soberly. "I suppose I ought to, at that. But how shall I press my suit, then?"