With a shrug of his shoulders he shoved his hands deeper down into
his pockets. "Quit again," he said, half aloud. "What do you know of
the spirit of the day?"
Not only of the spirit of the day did he know little, but of late with
acute conviction it was dawning on him that he knew little of many
other things. Certainly he was getting little out of life. For a
while, after professional recognition had come to him, and with it
financial reward, he had tested society, only to give it up and settle
down to still harder work during the day and his books when the day
was done. The only woman he had ever wanted to marry had refused to
marry him. His teeth came down on his lips. He still wanted her. In
all the world there was but one woman he loved or could love, and for
three years he had not seen her. It was his fault. He was to blame. It
had taken him long to see it, but he saw it now. There had been a
difference of opinion, a frank revealing of opposing points of view,
and he had been told that she would not surrender her life to the
selfishness that takes no part in activities beyond the interests of
her own home.
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