of analysis. So I went to the river and sat
down in the grass. A gentle wind was stirring the leaves, and the
sunbeams, filtering through the boughs, fell upon the ground in golden
snowflakes. What was Gretchen to me that I should grow jealous of her
smiles? The night before I could have sworn that I loved her; now I
was not so sure. A week ago all the sunshine in the world had come
from Phyllis's face; a shadow had come between. Oh, I knew the
symptoms. They were not new to me. They had visited me some five
years back, and had clung to me with the tenacity of a creditor to a
man with expectations. When a man arrives at that point where he wants
the society of one woman all to himself, the matter assumes serious
proportions. And a man likes to fall in love with one woman and
continue to love her all his days; it is more romantic. It annoys him
to face the fact that he is about to fall in love with another. In my
case I felt that there was some extenuation. Gretchen looked like
Phyllis. When I saw Gretchen in the garden and then went to my room
and gazed upon the likeness of Phyllis, I was much like the bachelor
Heine tells about--I doddered.

The red squirrel in the branches above me looked wisely. He was
wondering how long before the green burrs would parch and give him
their brown chestnuts. I was contemplating a metaphysical burr. I
wanted to remain true to Phyllis, though there wasn't any sense in my
doing so. Had Gretchen resembled any one but Phyllis I never should
have been in such a predicament. I should have gone away the day after
my arrival. Here I was going into my second week. My assistant in
London was probably worrying, having heard nothing from me during that
time. As matters stood it was evident that I could not be true either
to Phyllis or Gretchen, since I did not know positively which I loved.
I knew that I loved one. So much was gained. I wanted to throw up a
coin, heads for Phyllis, tails for Gretchen, but I couldn't bring
myself to gamble on the matter. I threw a stick at his squirrelship,
and he scurried into the hole in the crotch of the tree. A moment
later he peered at me, and, seeing that nothing was going to follow the
stick, crept out on the limb again, his tail bristling with indignation.

"If it hadn't been for Gretchen," said I, "you would have been a potpie
long ago."

He must have understood my impotence, for he winked at me jeeringly.

A steamer came alon