“One can be free and terribly lonesome too,” he suggested. “There’s nothing quite so horrible as being lonesome. This is a big world and just knocking around by yourself isn’t much good. We all need companionship; the soul cries for it.”
She glanced at him quickly, surprised at his sudden seriousness and the note of depression in his voice. In her great liking for him she groped for an explanation of his change of mood. He had not struck her as at all a moody person. Some reply seemed necessary and she was at a loss to know what to say to him.
“But you’re a success!” she exclaimed. “It’s only when a man fails that he’s likely to be lonesome.”
“Success is a beautiful word, but to myself I’m a decided failure. I’ve failed in the most important thing a man ever undertakes. Don’t look at me like that! I’ll explain. I’m supposed to be a mechanical expert, but there’s one mechanism that’s beyond me. I’m referring to the heart of a woman. My ignorance of that contrivance is complete.”
The grim look that had come into his face yielded to a smile as he saw her bewilderment.
“You’re going to be bored in a minute! I didn’t want you to think me more than twenty-seven and you’re already guessing that I’m at least seventy and a doddering wreck!”
“I wasn’t thinking that at all. You seemed unhappy and I was sorry!”
“Well, don’t be sorry for me. I’m not deserving of any one’s pity—not even my own. When I spoke of failure I was thinking of my marriage. Irene probably told you I’m married?”
“Oh, yes; I asked her the first thing!”
“And it made no difference to you—about coming I mean.”