"Bless you, Claire," began Stephen's next letter, "you make even my life worth living. Your letters are my one delight. All the same, we are poles apart in some things. You say, 'Oh, the joy of wanting nothing!' I would say, 'Oh, the misery of wanting nothing!' But fortunately there is one great want that keeps my old bones above ground, and that is the longing I have to see you and Judy and Eric again. Of course I was a fool not to marry. It may be fun to be a bachelor when you're young, but it's hell when you're old. I marvel at the number of women who face a life of single cussedness voluntarily. With me, there has been only one woman, and she holds this letter in her hands, as she has always held the writer's heart in her hands. But I've known plenty of women who would have made good wives, and perhaps given me Judys and Erics.
"Yes, you are right; I took defeat badly. My advice, now, would always be to marry—as best one can. There is nearly always a compromise to be made. There would have been no com-
