hese two possibilities;
first, that they have gone abroad to keep away from me; and, second,
that they have gone to England for the purpose of celebrating the
marriage of Carter and Miss Harding.

I do not see how I shall be of much use in either event. But this good
ship is cleaving the water toward England at the rate of twenty-five
knots an hour and I cannot turn back if I would.

I do not see how I am to stop the wedding. I remember that Carter once
told me that if he ever married it would be in London. I suppose they
are married before this time. Perhaps they will assume that I came
across on purpose to congratulate them.

I cannot understand why Mr. Harding did not leave some word for me.
Surely I have not offended him?

[Illustration: "I cannot turn back if I would"]

I met and chatted with him a few minutes before Miss Harding said the
words which have made me the most miserable of human beings.

This thing is past my solving. I only know that whatever she has done or
whatever she may do I love her and ever shall love her.

ENTRY NO. XXIII

A FEW CLOSING CONFESSIONS

On my arrival in London I lost no time in presenting myself to Mr.
Harding's bankers. I also presented a letter of introduction from that
gentleman's private secretary, and I presume these London financiers
called a meeting of the board of directors to consider this weighty
matter. I waited for hours, and was finally ushered into a private
office. It was as dingy and inadequate as are most London offices, and I
was properly impressed with its age, traditions and smells.

An old gentleman looked at me for a minute or two, and then took my
letter of introduction from his desk. He read it carefully again, wiped
his glasses and asked me if I were John Henry Smith. I assured him that
to the best of my knowledge and belief I was.

He looked doubtfully at me, hesitated as if determined to make no
mistake, sighed and then informed me that Mr. Harding had not left his
address in their care. I was tempted to express the opinion that Mr.
Harding showed rare judgment in declining to leave it with them, since
it doubtless would require an action at law to recover it in the event
he should have use for it, but I thanked the aged man for all that they
had done for me, and emerged from this gloomy den into the street.

[Illustration: "He looked doubtfully at me"]

This reed had broken. I never had much faith in it.

I had more confidence in