In my bedroom the next morning there was a sad and heavy heart. The

owner woke up, stared at the ceiling, then at the sun-baked bricks

beyond his window. He saw not the glory of the sun and the heavens.

To his eyes there was nothing poetic in the flash of the distant

church-spires against the billowy cloudbanks. The gray doves, circling

about the chimneys, did not inspire him, nor the twittering of the

sparrows on the window ledge. There was nothing at all in the world

but a long stretch of barren, lonely years. And he wondered how,

without her at his side, he ever could traverse them. He was driftwood

again. He had built upon sands as usual, and the tide had come in; his

castle was flotsam and jetsam. He was drifting, and he didn't care

where. He was very sorry for himself, and he had the blue devils the

worst kind of way. Finally he crawled out of bed and dressed because

it had to be done. He was not particularly painstaking with the

procedure. It mattered not what collar became him best, and he picked

up a tie at random. A man generally dresses for a certain woman's

approval, and when that is no longer to be gained he grows indifferent.

The other women do not count.

My breakfast consisted of a cup of coffee; and as the generous nectar

warmed my veins my thoughts took a philosophical turn. It is fate who

writes the was, the is, and the shall be. We have a proverb for every

joy and misfortune. It is the only consolation fate gives us. It is

like a conqueror asking the vanquished to witness the looting. All

roads lead to Rome, and all proverbs are merely sign posts by which we

pursue our destinies. And how was I to get to Rome? I knew not. Hope

is better than clairvoyance.

Was Phyllis right when she said that I did not truly love her? I

believed not. Should I go on loving her all my life? Undoubtedly I

should. As to affinities, I had met mine, but it had proved a

one-sided affair.

It was after ten by the clock when I remembered that I was to meet the

lawyer, the arbiter of my new fortunes. Money is a balm for most

things, and coupled with travel it might lead me to forget.

He was the family lawyer, and he had come all the way North to see that

I received my uncle's bequest. He was bent, gray and partially bald.

He must have been close to seventy, but for all that there was a

youthful twinkle in his eyes as he took my card and looked up into my

face.




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