It must not last another week, not another day. So much suddenly grew
clear to him.

He hurried away. Upon the streets brooded the heat of early summer.
Masses of human beings, hot but happy, passed him in silent activity.

What was he to do?

He must marry: that admitted of no doubt. In the glow of his own
hearth he must begin a new and more tonic life.

Marry? But whom? A worn out heart can no longer be made to beat more
swiftly at the sight of some slim maiden. The senses might yet be
stirred, but that is all.

Was he to haunt watering-places and pay court to mothers on the
man-hunt in order to find favour in their daughters' eyes? Was he to
travel from estate to estate and alienate the affection of young
_chatelaines_ from their favourite lieutenants?

Impossible!

He went home hopelessly enough and drowsed away the hours of the
afternoon behind drawn blinds on a hot couch.

Toward evening the postman brought a letter--in Alice's hand.
Alice! How could he have forgotten her! His first duty should have
been to see her.