“Yes?” he suggested again.
“I’m stale, I guess, or have lost my nerve or—or something.” Armstrong smiled,—a crooked smile that failed to extinguish the furrows on his forehead. “By the way, have you got a little superfluous nerve lying about that you could stake me with?” 122
Randall echoed the laugh, because it seemed the only possible answer, but that was all.
In the silence that followed Armstrong looked at his friend opposite, the nervous furrow between his eyes deepening.
“I suppose you’re wondering,” he began at last, “just what’s the matter with me and what I want of you. Concerning the first, there’s a lot I might say, but I won’t; I’ll spare you. As to what I want to ask of you—Frankly, Harry, straight to the point and conventional reticence aside, ought I to marry or oughtn’t I?” He caught the other’s expression and answered it quickly. “I know this is a peculiar thing to ask and seems, looking at it from some angles, something I shouldn’t ask; but you know all the circumstances between Elice and me and, in a way, our positions are a good deal similar. Just what do you think? Don’t hesitate to tell me exactly.”
In his seat Randall shifted uncomfortably; to gain time he filled his pipe afresh,—a distinct dissipation for the man of routine that he was.
“Frankly, as you suggest, Steve,” he answered finally, “I’d rather not discuss the subject, rather not advise. It’s—you know why—so big and personal.” 123
“I realize that and have apologized already for bringing it up; but I can’t decide myself—I’ve tried; and Elice—there are reasons why she can’t assist now either. It’s—” he made a motion to rise, but checked himself—“it’s something that has to be decided now too.”
“Has to?” Randall’s eyes behind the big lens of his glasses were suddenly keen. “Why, Steve?”
“Because it’s now or never,” swiftly. “I’ve—we’ve hesitated until we can’t delay any longer. I’m not sure that it’s not been too long already, that’s why Elice can’t figure.” He drew himself up with an effort, held himself still. “We’ve crossed the dividing line, Elice and I, and we’re drifting apart. Just how the thing has come about I don’t know; but it’s true. We’re on different roads somehow and we’re getting farther apart every month.” He sprang to his feet, his face turned away. “Soon—It’s simply hell, Harry!”