rd the perfect life that you have not
mentioned, but I haven't the least doubt that you already possess them
or that they will come to you in time. I mean such things as riches or
love."

"Ah, love," Pinckney murmured, and the shadow of a cloud passed over his
divine brow.

"Surely," I said, "_you_ have not sought for what love has to give and
sought in vain?"

"No," he replied thoughtfully, "I have not failed to win love. But does
love bring with it untouched felicity; that is what I ask." He
hesitated. "I will not attempt to describe her. I really could not, you
know, except in a feeble way, by saying that even to other eyes than
mine she is a woman more wonderful than any of my sisters, if that is at
all possible. We loved at first sight. I had run down for a Sunday
afternoon to Garden Towers-by-the-Sea, a beautiful suburb which a number
of enterprising citizens had built up out of a sand waste to meet the
needs of the tired urban worker who, in his expensive and uncomfortable
city flat, finds himself longing for the life-giving breeze of the ocean
and the sight of a bit of God's open country. I was walking down the
main street of the village, wearing the loosely shaped and well-padded
garments that were then popular with young men, and carrying a set of
golf-sticks in my right hand and a bull terrier under my arm. Then I saw
her. She was sitting on the porch of the house which her father had
purchased for one-third of what its value became when the completion of
extensive rapid-transit improvements brought it within thirty-five
minutes of the New York City Hall. We loved and told each other. My
father, at first, insisted that before assuming the responsibilities of
marriage a man should be in receipt of a larger independent income than
I could boast of. But when Alice pleaded that she could be of help by
raising high-grade poultry for the urban market and organising
subscribers' clubs for the magazines, my father yielded. We are to be
married in two months, sir."

Harding spoke up impatiently. "Still I fail to see where your
unhappiness lies."

"Did I say unhappiness? That is not at all the word, sir. It is rather
a sense of awe that seizes us both at times, when we are together, as
though we were in the presence of unseen influences; as though, rather,
a world not our own were projecting itself into our well-defined lives.
I have shown you that Alice and I belong to a very real, very
matter-of-fact world. Bu