It was so much like a refusal to give alms to a beggar that Tom flushed angrily. He managed to check a sharp retort on the very brink and, instead, began in a mildly ironical tone:
"Of course!" interrupted the man, rudely; and he began impatiently to drum on the edge of the table with his penholder. "Do you imagine for a minute that you are the only mateless male in New York looking for his destined bride? And do you really think that the fruitlessness--until now--of your search is a world-tragedy? Because your name happens to be Thomas--which is a descriptive title when applied to marriageable felines of your own sex--do you fancy I am concerned with your affairs? Young man, you are the only son and heir of a very rich man; but there are some things that money cannot buy. Love is one of them."
He frowned at Tom, but something in the young millionaire's face made him relent. He went on, more kindly, more encouragingly:
"My boy, she is seeking you, even as you are seeking her. She is very beautiful! You will meet her at the appointed hour--have no doubt of it. After your perfectly stupid failure at the opera--Wait!" He held up a hand as Tom was about to speak in self-defense. "The very futility of your manoeuvers shows that youth, brains, money, persistence, and desire are all powerless to hurry fate. As you, who have never seen her, love her, she loves you, though she has never seen you. She will know you as you will know her; but she is gone!"
"Be patient! After you meet her you will live with her until death parts you."
He said this, without theatrical emphasis, in a most matter-of-fact way. Tom's suspicions, always present in this house of mystification rather than of mystery, were not made livelier by the man's words; but neither were they allayed by the tone of his voice. He hesitated, and then, adventure whispering, he said:
"To be perfectly frank, I am interested in this--"
"Young man, I told you before that I ask nothing of you--no favor, no money, no service; not even your interest. When I asked you to do a certain thing you did it. I am not particularly grateful. You could not have refused! Possibly you can explain to your own satisfaction your own inexplicable acquiescence; you doubtless have evolved a dozen most ingenious theories to account for your doings and mine. The shortest and easiest explanation is the true one--fate. After you marry you will compare notes with her--and yet you will not understand why I concerned myself with your lives. You will perplex yourselves so unnecessarily; all because of your unwillingness to say, fate! Men hate fate as a hypothesis. It is not flattering to admit that we are but puppets--the strongest of us no stronger than an autumn leaf in the wind. And because you do not see fate you do not believe in it. And, for fear of being considered an ass by a lot of asses, who also do not believe in fate, you will never tell any one your romantic story. And yet, of the scores you call friends, there are only seven men who are happily married. And those seven I helped, as I have helped you and as I shall help those I am ordered to help. Even now the Dispeller of Darkness is out, making one heart send a message in the dark to another heart waiting for it!"