He had once--and only once--found himself involved in a serious love-affair, which, as it had left him a bachelor, had clearly come to no good.

It was with a woman much older than himself--gifted--more or less famous--a kind of modern Corinne whom he had met for a month in Rome in his first youth.

Corinne had laid siege to him, and he had eagerly, whole-heartedly succumbed.

He saw himself, looking back, as the typically befooled and bamboozled mortal; for Corinne, in the end, had thrown him over for a German professor, who admired her books and had a villa on the Janiculum.

During the eighteen years which had elapsed since their adventure, he had quite made it up with her, and had often called at the Janiculan villa, with its antiques, its window to the view, and the great Judas tree between it and Rome.