The Man in Lonely Land

, partly tense, and with half-shut eyes looked at a picture on the wall opposite. For an hour, two hours, he had sat like this. On his desk was an unfinished article,

on the eighteenth. Three days of her visit yet remained, a month of it had passed, and after she went- He stirred uneasily, changed his position, put down the calendar, then got up and began to walk the length of the room backward and forwar

yed with all the toys, worked with the best you had, and believed you were content. And you're finding out at forty what a fool you've b

off some of the lights, and went back to his chair. "I am an entirely free and independent person," he said aloud. "A most desirable condition for a man without a heart." Why did men have hearts, anyhow, and especially such a queer kind as he had. In the days of his youth he had expected the days of his maturity to find him married, find him with the responsibilities and obligations of other men; but he had strange views of marriage. One by one his friends had entered the estate; h

tered it and brought to him visions too fair and beautiful to be viewed unveiled, and he knew at last the mystery and power of love. Almost a week of her stay had gone before h

irectness and persistence which had impelled the securing of whatever was d

t, sane, helpful, happy things of which he knew so little? He had thought he knew life, its all sides; and unknown to herself s

making; and before him in fancy she was waiting for his coming when the day was done, was in the room with outstretched hands to give him greeting as he entered the door. The light of a new vision had blinded, and in its fire the loneliness of his life had

ing sick, he had gone up to see her and give her the book bought for her. As usual, she had much to say, and he let her talk unint

is handwriting now. She lets me come in her room whenever I want to. I don't see how one person could have so much to say. I knew he must be her sweetheart, and I asked mother, and mother says she's engaged to a,