After all, why should I not confide in him?
He was a good man and a wise man, full of human sympathy, as I knew, though so cryptic and secretive in his professional capacity.

And I wanted a friend badly just now.
"I am afraid," I began shyly, "it is not a matter that admits of much help, and it's hardly the sort of thing that I ought to worry you by talking about----" "If it is enough to make you unhappy, my dear fellow, it is enough to merit serious consideration by your friend; so, if you don't mind telling me----" "Of course I don't, sir!" I exclaimed.
"Then fire away; and don't call me 'sir.' We are brother practitioners now." Thus encouraged, I poured out the story of my little romance; bashfully at first and with halting phrases, but, later, with more freedom and confidence.

He listened with grave attention, and once or twice put a question when my narrative became a little disconnected.

When I had finished he laid his hand softly on my arm.
"You have had rough luck, Berkeley.

I don't wonder that you are miserable.