proceedings on the part of a cruel Providence that we call a
coincidence. Because it may just as well have been the
superstitious mind of Florence that forced her to certain acts, as if
she had been hypnotized. It is, however, certain that the 4th of
August always proved a significant date for her. To begin with,
she was born on the 4th of August. Then, on that date, in the year
1899, she set out with her uncle for the tour round the world in
company with a young man called Jimmy. But that was not
merely a coincidence. Her kindly old uncle, with the supposedly
damaged heart, was in his delicate way, offering her, in this trip, a
birthday present to celebrate her coming of age. Then, on the 4th
of August, 1900, she yielded to an action that certainly coloured
her whole life--as well as mine. She had no luck. She was probably
offering herself a birthday present that morning. . . . On the 4th of
August, 1901, she married me, and set sail for Europe in a great
gale of wind--the gale that affected her heart. And no doubt there,
again, she was offering herself a birthday gift--the birthday gift of
my miserable life. It occurs to me that I have never told you
anything about my marriage. That was like this: I have told you, as
I think, that I first met Florence at the Stuyvesants', in Fourteenth
Street. And, from that moment, I determined with all the
obstinacy of a possibly weak nature, if not to make her mine, at
least to marry her. I had no occupation--I had no business affairs. I
simply camped down there in Stamford, in a vile hotel, and just
passed my days in the house, or on the verandah of the Misses
Hurlbird. The Misses Hurlbird, in an odd, obstinate way, did not
like my presence. But they were hampered by the national
manners of these occasions. Florence had her own sitting-room.
She could ask to it whom she liked, and I simply walked into that
apartment. I was as timid as you will, but in that matter I was like