It was
not until he was about to leave his rooms that he remembered he must
dine alone; he had been dressing for her, unconsciously. The
realization brought him up with something of a shock. "This will never
do," he said, "I can't eat alone to-night. And I can't ask Reenie, so
soon after the incident with her mother. I know--Bert Morrison." He
reached for the telephone and rang her number. Had anyone charged Dave
with fickleness in his affections he would have laughed at the
absurdity. Had he not remained true to one great passion through the
dangerous decade of his life? A man always thinks of the decade just
ended as the dangerous decade. And Bert Morrison was a good friend.
As he waited at the telephone he recalled the impulse which had seized
him when they had last parted. But the recollection brought only a
glow of friendship for Bert. There was no hint of danger in it.
Her number did not answer. He thought of Edith Duncan. But Edith
lived at home, and it was much too late to extend a formal dinner
invitation. There was nothing for it but to eat alone. He suddenly
became conscious of the great loneliness of his bachelor life. After
all, he was quite as much alone in the city as he had been in his
boyhood in the hills. He began to moralize on this subject of
loneliness. It was very evident to him now that his life had been
empty and shallow. It was rather evident that any single life is empty
and shallow.
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