It was no good going with her now. From the platform he watched her. As the train began to move, he ran beside her window. At the point of vanishing she smiled forgiveness and kissed the finger-tips of Miss Self-Reliance. In passing out of the station it occurred to him to inquire how long it took to get to Springfield. He wanted to follow her in imagination and to picture her at the exact hour of arrival. He was surprised to find that it was such a short journey and that she might have gone by a later train. If she’d been so sorry, she needn’t have left him in such a hurry. When he came to reason things out, he saw that she could have gone just as well on Monday, since Fluffy’s company was evidently playing in Springfield another night. Perhaps she had a good reason for going. It was some comfort to remember that at the last train. If she’d been so sorry, she needn’t have left him in such a hurry. When he came to reason things out, he saw that she could have gone just as well on Monday, since Fluffy’s company was evidently playing in Springfield another night. Perhaps she had a good reason for going. It was some comfort to remember that at the last moment she had wanted to stay. Then began the long days of waiting, from which all purpose in living seemed to have been banished. Ambitions, which had goaded him forward, were at a halt. Everything unconnected with her took on an air of unreality. His personality became distasteful to him because it seemed not to have attracted her sufficiently. Things that once would have brought him happiness failed to stir him. A boom was being worked for him. He was on the crest of a wave. Interviewers were continually calling to get personal stories. Articles appeared in which he confided to the public: “How I Became Famous at Twenty-three,” “Why I Came to America,” “What I Think of New York,” “Why I Distrust Co-education.” There seemed to be no subject, however trivial, upon which his views were not of value to the hundred million inhabitants of America. He was continually finding his face in the papers. He sprang into an unexpected demand both as writer and artist. The fun he derived from this fluster was in imagining the added worth it would give him in her eyes. He liked to think of her as dashing up to news-stands and showering on him the enthusiasm he had seen her shower on Fluffy. Success left him the more humble in proportion as it failed to rouse her comment. If success couldn’t make her proud of him, there must be some weakness in his character. He searched her letters for any hint that would betray her knowledge of what was happening. Perhaps her very omissions were a sign that she was feeling more than she expressed. At last he wrote and told her. She replied inadequately, “How very nice for you!” His hope had been that she would have included herself as a sharer in his good fortune.