I have now told you (I presume) how I became whimsical, and Ifear it would please Mary not at all. But speaking of her, and,as the cat's light keeps me in a ruminating mood, suppose,instead of returning Mary to her lover by means of the letter, Ihad presented a certain clubman to her consideration? Certainlyno such whimsical idea crossed my mind when I dropped the letter,but between you and me and my night-socks, which have all thistime been airing by the fire because I am subject to cold feet, Ihave sometimes toyed with it since.

Why did I not think of this in time? Was it because I must everremain true to the unattainable she?

I am reminded of a passage in the life of a sweet lady, a friendof mine, whose daughter was on the eve of marriage, when suddenlyher lover died. It then became pitiful to watch that tremblingold face trying to point the way of courage to the young one. Intime, however, there came another youth, as true, I dare say, asthe first, but not so well known to me, and I shrugged myshoulders cynically to see my old friend once more a matchmaker.She took him to her heart and boasted of him; like one made youngherself by the great event, she joyously dressed her paledaughter in her bridal gown, and, with smiles upon her face, shecast rice after the departing carriage. But soon after it hadgone, I chanced upon her in her room, and she was on her knees intears before the spirit of the dead lover. "Forgive me," shebesought him, "for I am old, and life is gray to friendlessgirls." The pardon she wanted was for pretending to her daughterthat women should act thus.

I am sure she felt herself soiled.

But men are of a coarser clay. At least I am, and nearly twentyyears had elapsed, and here was I burdened under a load ofaffection, like a sack of returned love-letters, with no lap intowhich to dump them.

"They were all written to another woman, ma'am, and yet I am inhopes that you will find something in them about yourself." Itwould have sounded oddly to Mary, but life is gray to friendlessgirls, and something might have come of it.

On the other hand, it would have brought her for ever out of thewood of the little hut, and I had but to drop the letter to sendthem both back there. The easiness of it tempted me.

Besides, she would tire of me when I was really known to her.They all do, you see.

And, after all, why should he lose his laugh because I had lostmy smile?

And then, again, the whole thing was merely a whimsical idea.

I dropped the letter, and shouldered my burden.