He simply could not stand the prospect of being notified month after month that a lady would be on view somewhere.

It was like going for a fitting; it was horrible.

Besides, what use was it?
Within a week or two an enormous and utterly inexplicable emptiness had yawned before him, revealing life as a hollow delusion.

He no longer cared.
Immersed in bitter reflection, he climbed the familiar stairway and sent his card to Mr.Keen, and in due time he was ushered into the presence of the Tracer of Lost Persons.
"Mr.Keen," he began, with a headlong desire to get it over and be done with it, "I may as well tell you how impossible it is for you, or anybody, to find that person I described--" Mr.Keen raised an expostulatory hand, smiling indulgence.
"It is more than possible, Mr.Gatewood, more than probable; it is almost an accomplished fact.

In other words, I think I may venture to congratulate you and say that she _is_ found." "Now, _how_ can she be found, when there isn't--" "Mr.Gatewood, the magician will always wave his magic wand for you and show you his miracles for the price of admission.