to my lucky hands.

These are not the things which steep my soul in joy ineffable!

I know that I possess the love of Grace Harding!

She has not told me; it is not necessary that she shall say the words to
confirm the truth which has come to me. I know that she loves me; is not
that enough?

Chilvers passed while I was sitting here and caught me smiling. I was
reading the sixteenth entry in this diary.

"What are you grinning at, Smith?" he demanded.

I did not tell him. I had been reading my soliloquy to the effect that
the knowledge of love is conveyed without verbal expression between
those who love. I had written: "The man who fails to avail himself of
this silent but eloquent language, and who stupidly assaults a woman
with an open avowal of an alleged love deserves to be coldly rejected."

Then I wrote that these voiceless messages to the one you love would be
considered and finally answered, and that there might come a day "when
over the throbbing unseen wire there comes a telepagram sounding the
letters 'Y-E-S,' then proceed with the sweet formality of a verbal
confession and avowal of your love, and you will not be disappointed."

I have received that glorious message! Grace Harding has told me that
she loves me!

The message was transmitted from the depths of her beautiful eyes! It
has been confirmed by the gentle pressure of her hand as it rested on my
arm! It has been echoed in the accents of her sweet voice! I have read
it in the blush which mantles her check as I draw near, and I know it
from a thousand little tokens which my heart understands and which my
feeble words cannot express.

I am

ENTRY NO. XXII

I AM UTTERLY MISERABLE

_On Board "Oceanic," East-bound._

I may as well finish the sentence which ends brokenly in the preceding
entry. "I am _an ass_."

Three weeks have passed since I finished that entry with the most
appropriate words, "I am." They fittingly express the consummate egoism
with which I was then afflicted. I have recovered--partially, at least.

I am--there goes that "I am" again--I am on the "Oceanic" pointed for
London. Unless we sink--and I care little whether we do or not--I should
be in that city inside of forty-eight hours.

In looking over my luggage I found this diary. I gave it to my room
steward and told him to throw it overboard. Then it occurred to me that
it would be my luck that it would be picked up and published as the
mental meanderings o