I was aware of a sudden clarity of vision. The choice that lay before me appeared suddenly vital; a climax in my career, a symbol of the essential choice that would determine my future.
On the one hand was the security of refusal. I could return, unaffected, to my familiar life. Presently, when the Jervaise nerves had become normal again, the Jervaises themselves would recognise the egregious blunder they had made in their treatment of me. They would apologise--through Frank. And I should go on, as I had begun. I was already decently successful. I should become more successful. I could look forward to increased financial security, to a measure of fame, to all that is said to make life worth living. And as I saw it, then, the whole prospect of that easy future, appeared to me as hopelessly boring, worthless, futile.
On the other hand...? I had no idea what awaited me on the other hand. I could see that I should have to accept the stigma that had been put upon me; that I should be thrown into the company of a young woman whose personality had extraordinarily attracted me, who probably detested me, and who might now be engaged to a man I very actively disliked; that I should involve myself in an affair that had not fully engaged my sympathy (I still retained my feeling of compassion for old Jervaise); that I should, in short, be choosing the path of greatest resistance and unpleasantness, with no possibility of getting any return other than scorn and disgrace.
I saw these alternatives in a flash, and no sane man would have hesitated between them for one moment.
"But look here, Banks," I said. "What would your mother and--and your sister say to having an unknown visitor foisted upon them without notice?"
"Oh! that'd be all right," he said with conviction.
"There's nothing I should like better than to stay with you," I continued, "if I thought that your--people would care to have me."
"Well, as a matter of fact," he said, "my father and mother haven't come home yet. They drove over to some relations of ours about twelve miles away, yesterday afternoon, and they won't be back till about seven, probably. Last chance my father had before harvest, and my mother likes to get away now and again when she can manage it."
