each smiled a little
grimly, for it is stubborn--square, and fits us both. After all, it is
not a bad _ensemble_. The character has his weak points, but, all in
all, he is not bad to look upon.

_June 10._ We went driving this evening, she and I, far out into the
country, going and coming slowly. The night was perfect, with a full
moon and a soft south wind. Nature's music makers were all busy. On
the high places, the crickets sang loudly their lonesome song to the
night, while from the distant river and lowlands there came the
uncertain minor of countless frogs in chorus.

For two hours I tasted happiness, divine happiness, happiness so
complete that I forgot time.

I have known many beautiful women, women splendid as animals are
splendid, but never before one whose intense womanliness made me
forget that she was beautiful. I can't explain; it is too subtle and
holy a thing. I sat by her side, so near that we touched, and
worshipped as I never worshipped at church. If but for this night
alone, my life is worth the living.

_June 12._ It seems peculiar that he should be working with me at this
story; strange that he should care to know me at all. Perhaps I stand
a little in awe of the successful man; I think we all do. At least, he
is the example _par excellence_. I have seen him go into a room filled
with total strangers, and though he never spoke a word, have heard the
question all about,--"Who is he?" Years ago, when he as well as I was
an unknown writer, we each submitted a story to the same editor, by
the same mail. Both were returned. I can still see the expression on
his face as he opened his envelope, and thrust the manuscript into his
pocket. He did not say a word, but his manner of donning his top-coat
and hat, and the crash of the front door behind him betrayed his
disappointment. His work was afterwards published at his own risk. The
ink on my story is fading, but I have it still.

_July 2._ She is going to the coast for the season, and I called
to-night to say _au revoir_. I could see her only a few minutes as her
carriage was already waiting; something, I believe, in honor of her
last night in town. She was in evening dress, and beautiful--I cannot
describe. Think of the most beautiful woman you have ever known, and
then--but it is useless, for you have not known her.

I was intoxicated; happy as a boy; happy as a god. I filled the few
moments I had, full to overflowing. I told her what every man t