Unfortunately she loved the jeweller's clerk. She tried to convince
me, with a sweetness I shall never forget, that she was infinitely
better suited to be a jeweller's wife than to be a weight upon the
neck of a genius. Moreover, when I foolishly mentioned my snug fortune
as an extra inducement, she put me smartly in my place by remarking
that fortunes like wine are made in a day while really excellent
jeweller's clerks are something like thirty years in the making. Which,
I take it, was as much as to say that there is always room for
improvement in a man. I confess I was somewhat disturbed by one of her
gentlest remarks. She seemed to be repeating my Uncle Rilas, although
I am quite sure she had never heard of him. She argued that the fortune
might take wings and fly away, and then what would be to pay! Of course,
it was perfectly clear to me, stupid as I must have been, that she
preferred the jeweller's clerk to a fortune.

I was loth to lose her as a typist. The exact point where I appear to
have made a fool of myself was when I first took it into my head that
I could make something else of her. I not only lost a competent typist,
but I lost a great deal of sleep, and had to go abroad for awhile, as
men do when they find out unpleasant things about themselves in just
that way.

I gave her as a wedding present a very costly and magnificent
dining-room set, fondly hoping that the jeweller's clerk would
experience a great deal of trouble in living up to it. At first I had
thought of a Marie Antoinette bedroom set, but gave it up when I
contemplated the cost.

If you will pardon me, I shall not go any further into this lamentable
love affair. I submit, in extenuation, that people do not care to be