n
conversation was low, yet thrilling, like the deeper middle tones of a
flute. I watched the men gather round her talking and laughing in an
easy manner, and wondered how it was possible for them to do it. But
destiny, my special destiny, was at work. I was standing near, talking
with affected gaiety to several young ladies, who, however, must have
remarked my preoccupation; for my second sense of hearing was alert to
what was being said by the group of which the girl in white was the
center, when I heard her say: "I think his playing of Chopin is
exquisite." And one of my friends in the group replied: "You haven't
met him? Allow me----" Then turning to me, "Old man, when you have a
moment I wish you to meet Miss ----." I don't know what she said to me
or what I said to her. I can remember that I tried to be clever, and
experienced a growing conviction that I was making myself appear more
and more idiotic. I am certain, too, that, in spite of my Italian-like
complexion, I was as red as a beet.

Instead of taking the car, I walked home. I needed the air and
exercise as a sort of sedative. I am not sure whether my troubled
condition of mind was due to the fact that I had been struck by love
or to the feeling that I had made a bad impression upon her.

As the weeks went by, and when I had met her several more times, I
came to know that I was seriously in love; and then began for me days
of worry, for I had more than the usual doubts and fears of a young
man in love to contend with.

Up to this time I had assumed and played my role as a white man with a
certain degree of nonchalance, a carelessness as to the outcome, which
made the whole thing more amusing to me than serious; but now I ceased
to regard "being a white man" as a sort of practical joke. My acting
had called for mere external effects. Now I began to doubt my ability
to play the part. I watched her to see if she was scrutinizing me, to
see if she was looking for anything in me which made me differ
from the other men she knew. In place of an old inward feeling of
superiority over many of my friends I began to doubt myself. I began
even to wonder if I really was like the men I associated with; if
there was not, after all, an indefinable something which marked a
difference.

But, in spite of my doubts and timidity, my affair progressed, and I
finally felt sufficiently encouraged to decide to ask her to marry
me. Then began the hardest struggle of my life, whe