He was lonely. At first he had difficulty in identifying what was wrong with him. Before he had gone to the Territory he had been a gregarious boy who would rather be with people than on his own; afterwards he had become solitary, a man who walked by himself, a man with many acquaintances, but few close friends. Indeed, the only friend he had made since his early twenties was Hendrick Van Deusen, aka Schultz, the Professor. He fought against what was happening to him, tried to deny it even. But he couldn’t. He found himself remembering her at the oddest moments, in his office in the city, at home in the evening. He had become used to dining alone with her several nights a week. After dinner they sat and talked, or read. While she embroidered he played the piano for her, or the guitar. Occasionally he fetched his banjo and sang Negro spirituals and the songs of Stephen Foster. He also missed her in bed. At first she had been overwhelmed by him, her modesty and shyness holding her back a little, but after a time she had become as frank and joyous a partner as he could have wished for.
