Advancing toward us was a big, happy blond man of the pattern from which nine out of ten German upper-class men are cut. He had the expression of simple, unaffected joy natural to a big, healthy, happy blond youth looking forward to seeing his best girl. He had youth, good looks, unusual personal magnetism--and you will imagine what effect this produced upon my mood. I could not deny that Neva was right. Without a title this man would have all the chances in his favor when he went courting. He had not a trace of aristocratic futility. You would have admired the frank cordiality of my greeting. Instead of sitting down again I glanced at my watch and said: “Well, my time’s up. I shall have to go without seeing Horace and Mary.” “But you’ll come to dinner?” said Mrs. Armstrong. “I’m taking the first express back to Paris,” said I. “I found a telegram waiting for me at my hotel.” “Mary will be disappointed,” said Neva. “You’ll give Mrs. Loring my best?” I remembered that the English papers, with the news doubtless in it, would not reach Territet until late that evening or the following morning. But I could not well tell her what had occurred. “Good-by,” said I, shaking hands. “Tell them how sorry I was. I may see you all in Paris.” And away I went, with not an outward sign of my internal state. In less than half an hour I was in the Paris express. * * * * * I stopped at Paris a month. A letter came from her--a bulky letter. I tossed it unopened into the fire. A week, and a second letter came. It was not so bulky. I flung it unopened into the fire. About two weeks, and a third letter came. I got Rossiter to address an envelope to her. I inclosed her unopened letter in the envelope and mailed it. I was giving myself an exquisite pleasure, the keener because it was seasoned with exquisite pain.