I threw myself into your
arms....

But the next day I was afraid again. The phrase
"passion's slave" got into my head and plagued me.
Then you came to me and said, "It's the end of the
road, dear. We can't go on." That changed
everything once more, Ambo, in a flash. That was
my crisis. From that moment, I was madly jealous
of Gertrude; knew I always had been, from the
first. My telegram to her was a challenge to
battle. It was, dear--and I lost. She came back;
she was wonderful, too--her way--and the old
Gertrude-dream stirred in you again; just stirred,
but that was enough. You said to yourself, didn't
you? that perhaps after all the best solution for
our wretched difficulties was for Gertrude to
return to her home. At least, that would end
things. But you couldn't have said that to
yourself if Gertrude had been really repulsive to
you. The old dream had fluttered its tired wings,
once, Ambo; you know it had!

And so I flopped again, dear! I was sick of love;
I hated love! I said to myself, "I won't have this
stupid, brutal, instinctive thing pushing and
pulling me about like this! I'll rule my own life,
thanks--my own thoughts and dreams! _Freedom's_
the thing--the only good thing in life. I'll be
free! Ambo, too, must learn to be free. We can
only share what's honestly best in both of us when
at last we are free!"

My Galahad-Jimmy had turned up again, too.
Perhaps that had something to do with my final
fiercest revolt against you. I don't know. He was
all I had wanted him to be, Ambo; simple and
straightforward and clean. Oh, he had his white,
shining armor on, bless him! But I didn't want him
to rescue me, for all that; not in the old way. I
was just glad my dream-boy had come a little true;
that's all. You were jealous of him, weren't you?
Confess! You needn't have been.

But here in New York, with Sister, things happened
that made a difference....

First of all, dear, I discovered all I had lost in
losing you; discovered I _couldn't_ be free. All I
could do was to make