began:

"You know what my life has been--that is, generally. What I wish to tell
you now is an inner phase. When, at the beginning of middle age, at last
I had gained the wealth I always intended to have, I decided that I
would marry. I wished to have a home. Of course, during all those
toiling years, I had not been without what are called love affairs, but
I was far too intensely absorbed in my own purposes to spend much time
upon them. Besides, I had preserved an ideal.

"I do not intend to conceal or deny that I am ambitious: I made a
deliberate effort to gain admittance into what is called the best
society in the Eastern cities, and in a measure I succeeded. I enjoyed
the life; it was another world; but still, wherever I went it seemed to
me that the women were artificial. Beautiful, attractive, women I could
not help admiring, but--not like my ideal of what my wife must be. They
would never make for me that home I coveted; for while I stood ready to
surround that home with luxury, in its centre I wanted, for myself
alone, a true and loving heart, a heart absorbed in me. And then, while
I knew that I wanted this, while I still cherished my old ideal closely,
what did I do? I began to love Rachel Bannert!

"You look at me; you do not understand why I speak in that tone. It is
as well that you should not. I can only say that I worshipped her. It
was not her fault that I began to love her, but it was her fault that I
was borne on so far; for she made me believe that she loved me; she gave
me the privileges of a lover. I never doubted (how could I?) that she
would be my wife in the end, although, for reasons of her own, she
wished to keep the engagement, for the time being, a secret. I
submitted, because I loved her. And then, when I was helpless, because I
was so sure of her, she turned upon me and cast me off. Like a worn-out
glove!

"Anne, I could not believe it. We were in the ravine; she had strolled
off in that direction, as though by chance, and I had followed her. I
asked her what she meant: no doubt I looked like a dolt. She laughed in
my face. It seemed that she had only been amusing herself; that she had
never had any intention of marrying me; a 'comedy of the summer.' But no
one laughs in my face twice--not even a woman. When, at last, I
understood her, my infatuation vanished; and I said some words to her
that night which I think she will not soon forget. Then I turned and
left.

"Remember that this w