use sounds childish; but listen: I speak it softly: I
love, and he who loves is ever as a child. I smile at myself for
making the admission. I, a man whose hair is thinning and silvering,
who has written of love all his life, and laughed at it. Oh, it's
humorous, deliciously humorous. To think that I have become, in
reality, the fool I pictured others in fancy!

_April 2._ Gods, she was beautiful to-night!--the way she came to meet
me: the long skirt that hung so gracefully, and that fluffy, white,
sleeveless thing that fitted her so perfectly and showed her white
arms and the curves of her throat. I forgot to rise, and I fear I
stared at her. I can yet see the smile that crept through the long
lashes as she looked at me, and as I stumbled an apology she was
smiling all the time. How I came away I swear I don't know. Instinct,
I suppose; for now at last I have an incentive. I must work mightily,
and earn a name--for her.

_April 4._ He says it is a strong plot and that he will help me. That
means the book will succeed. I wonder how a man feels who can do
things, not merely dream them. I expected he would laugh when I told
him the plot, especially when I told whom the woman was; but he didn't
say a word. He thinks, as I do, that it would be better to leave the
story's connection with her a surprise until the book is published. He
is coming up here to work to-morrow. "Keep a plot warm," he says:
"especially one with a love in it." He looked at me out of the corner
of his eye as he spoke, so peculiarly I hardly knew whether he was
laughing at me or not. I suppose, just now, my state of mind is rather
obvious and amusing.

_May 3._ As I expected, the reaction is on. What a price we have to
pay for our happy moments in this world! I'm tired to-night and a
little discouraged, for I worked hard all day, and did not accomplish
much. "Lack of inspiration," he said. "The heroine is becoming a
trifle dim. Hadn't you better go and enthuse a little to-night?"

I was not in a mood to be chaffed; I told him shortly: "No, you had
better go yourself."

He smiled and thanked me. "With your permission," he said, "I will."

Nature certainly has been kind to him, for he is handsome and
fascinating beyond any man I ever knew. I wanted to use him in the
story, but he positively refused. He said that I would do better. So
we finally compromised on a combination. "The man" has his hair and my
eyes, his nose and my mouth. Over the chin we