as I looked up I saw a spider-web in a corner
of the ceiling. "I must speak to Prudence about that in the
morning," I said to myself with annoyance. Then for the first
time it came to me that I was out of temper, for I am customarily
tranquil and not easily upset. My mind wandered rapidly from one
thing to another, and oddly enough I caught myself humming a
little tune which had no sort of relevancy to the events of the
day. I tried to dismiss the incident of the garden as the
temporary folly of a romantic girl, which would wear itself out
with a week's absence. Why should it trouble me? Had I been
lacking in kindness or affection? Should I be disturbed because a
few boat rides and the influence of moonlight had wrought on a
mere child? Was I not secure in her promise, and had I not heard
her say she had given her word? As for Frederick, was he not my
debtor? Had he not confessed it? Then why give more thought to
the matter? It was awkward, but both were young and both would
outlive it. Sylvia and I were young, and we outlived it.

But still kept ringing in my ears that despairing half-whisper:
"It is for the best."

Petulantly I threw away my cigar and went up to my room. I walked
over to the dressing-case and turned up the gas. The shadow
displeased me and I lighted the opposite jet. Then I stood
squarely before the mirror and looked critically at the
reflection.

Yes, John Stanhope, you are growing old. That expanding forehead,
with the retreating hairs, tells the tale of time. The gray upon
your cheeks is whitening and the razor must be used more
vigilantly to further deception. Those creases in your face can
no longer be dismissed as character lines; the shagginess of your
eyebrows has the flying years to account for it. Plainly, John,
you and humbug must part company. You are not of this generation
and it is not for you.

I turned down the gas, threw open the window and let the
moonlight filter in through the elms and over the tops of the
little pines. The soft beauty of the night soothed me, and
gradually and very gently my irritation and annoyance slipped
away. Why should not a young girl, radiant in youth and beauty,
affect a young man of her generation? What has an old fellow,
with all his money and worldly experience and burnt-out youth, to
give in exchange for that intoxication which every girl may
properly regard her lawful gift? Undoubtedly I should make a
better husband, as husbands go, than my ro