the questions were not asked--then. I went to my
study and attempted to write; the attempt was a failure.

For an hour or so I stared hopelessly at the blank paper. I hadn't an
idea in my head, apparently. At last I threw down the pencil and gave up
the battle for the day. I was not in a writing mood. I lit my pipe, and,
moving to the arm-chair by the window, sat there, looking out at the
lawn and flower beds. No one was in sight except Grimmer, the gardener,
who was trimming a hedge.

I sat there for some time, smoking and thinking. Hephzy dressed in her
best, passed the window on her way to the gate. She was going for a call
in the village and had asked me to accompany her, but I declined. I did
not feel like calling.

My pipe, smoked out, I put in my pocket. If I could have gotten rid of
my thoughts as easily I should have been happier, but that I could
not do. They were strange thoughts, hopeless thoughts, ridiculous,
unavailing thoughts. For me, Kent Knowles, quahaug, to permit myself to
think in that way was worse than ridiculous; it was pitiful. This was a
stern reality, this summer of mine in England, not a chapter in one of
my romances. They ended happily; it was easy to make them end in that
way. But this--this was no romance, or, if it was, I was but the comic
relief in the story, the queer old bachelor who had made a fool of
himself. That was what I was, an old fool. Well, I must stop being
a fool before it was too late. No one knew I was such a fool. No one
should know--now or ever.

And having reached this philosophical conclusion I proceeded to dream
of dark eyes looking into mine across a breakfast table--our table; of a
home in Bayport--our home; of someone always with me, to share my life,
my hopes, to spur me on to a work worth while, to glory in my triumphs
and comfort me in my reverses; to dream of what might have been if--if
it were not absolutely impossible. Oh, fool, fool, fool!

A quick step sounded on the gravel walk outside the window. I knew the
step, should have recognized it anywhere. She was walking rapidly toward
the house, her head bent and her eyes fixed upon the path before
her. Grimmer touched his hat and said "Good afternoon, miss," but she
apparently did not hear him. She passed on and I heard her enter the
hall. A moment later she knocked at the study door.

She entered the room in answer to my invitation and closed the door
behind her. She was dressed in her golfing costume,