Off to my first lecture!

SIDNEY.

K. found the note on the hall table when he got home that night, and
carried it upstairs to read. Whatever faint hope he might have had that
her youth would prevent her acceptance he knew now was over. With the
letter in his hand, he sat by his table and looked ahead into the empty
years. Not quite empty, of course. She would be coming home.

But more and more the life of the hospital would engross her. He surmised,
too, very shrewdly, that, had he ever had a hope that she might come to
care for him, his very presence in the little house militated against him.
There was none of the illusion of separation; he was always there, like
Katie. When she opened the door, she called "Mother" from the hall. If
Anna did not answer, she called him, in much the same voice.

He had built a wall of philosophy that had withstood even Wilson's
recognition and protest. But enduring philosophy comes only with time; and
he was young. Now and then all his defenses crumbled before a passion
that, when he dared to face it, shook him by its very strength. And that
day all his stoicism went down before Sidney's letter. Its very frankness
and affection hurt--not that he did not want her affection; but he craved
so much more. He threw himself face down on the bed, with the paper
crushed in his hand.