Eugene Pickering by Henry James, Fiction

"Tell me everything, by all means," I answered, smiling. "I desire nothing better than to lie here in the shade and hear everything." He frowned a little, as if he thought my sympathy a trifle meager. I shook him by the hand and laughed. "The pearl of wisdom," I cried, "is love; honest love in the most convenient concentration of experience! I advise you to fall in love." He gave me no smile in response, but drew from his pocket the letter of which I have spoken, held it up, and shook it solemnly. "What is it?" I asked. "It is my sentence!" "Not of death, I hope!" "Of marriage." "With whom?" "With a person I don't love." This was serious. I stopped smiling, and begged him to explain.