him: he is another's. Has loved long and hopelessly."
"Has he?"
"When in Warsaw, he went the length of attempting suicide—unsuccessfully, I need not say."
"But this love of his, is it not only hopeless, but unrequited too?"
"Well, he proposed—and was refused. But that's no wonder. Such a man should never marry; a whole seraglio would not be enough for him."
"H'm, yes; that would be quite in his line. Who is the girl? Does she live near?"
"Yes, she does."
"And who may she be? Please tell me. Was she at the Sedniewski party?"
"Don't ask; I must not tell. It has been kept secret."
"But did anybody confide in you?"
"Why, no."
"Then I have as much right to know as you have. I am awfully curious, and wonder at the girl's taste. … Do I know her?"
He holds out for some time, but in the end I disarm him: though in the way I dislike most and very seldom employ, … by
