Under the entry of Friday, April 22, he copied entire Shelley’s “Indian Serenade,” beginning, “I arise from dreams of thee In the first sweet sleep of night.” “Sunday, April 24. “This evening has been a most eventful one for me. I am engaged to Mrs. Benson. I am still so astonished that I do not know precisely how it occurred. I do not know how to describe my feelings. They are so mixed. Words fail me. “I escorted her to a Sunday-evening concert at the Metropolitan. I owed her something, of course, in return for The Empire Vaudeville, and when she reminded me of that, I said maybe she would like to go to the Metropolitan. The music was beautiful. Homer and Bonci sang. I have always gone alone before. Mrs. Benson wept because it was so beautiful. Then she said she was partly weeping because the boarders had begun to cast insinuations about her and me. “Words cannot express how overcome I was. She has, of course, nothing but her reputation. How bitterer than a serpent’s tooth is a slanderous tongue! I asked her who started it, but she would not tell me for fear I would attack him, which would make matters worse. I would have done so, too; at least I would have demanded a retraction. Before I knew it we were engaged. “I am not sorry. How lonely my life has been! Perhaps I have at last found happiness where I least expected it. She is a good, honest, capable woman, and she says she’s going to begin exercising to reduce her weight. I fear I am unworthy. Would that I could adore her more! Everything is not just as I imagined love to be; but I am not sorry. I should be happy in my good fortune. It is not good for man to live alone. ‘Duty is an Archangel on the right-hand side of God.’ _Anon._” Nevertheless, it was a much chastened, even saddened, Mr. Francis who returned to work the following morning. He had lived in his dreams, his romances had been the deepest and sweetest part of his life, for so long that such a reality as his engagement to Mrs. Benson hurt him through and through. Perhaps any reality in the matter of romance would have hurt him. He had become a confirmed dreamer, even as he had become a confirmed bachelor, and he was not fitted to cope with practical details. Even the preparations, the hundred and one rather sordid arrangements, he would have had to go through in order to marry his latest ideal would probably have saddened him a good deal. It was thrice in vain that he attempted to be practical in the matter of marriage with Mrs. Benson; he suffered by every necessary preparation that brushed the star-dust off the butterfly’s wings of his dream ideal of love--suffered agonies that gave him a feeling of weakness in the diaphragm and in the knees.