e very day after she received
mine. By this she seems willing to lose no time in receiving these
letters "of such sweet breath composed." If I thought so--but I wait
for your reply. After all, what is there in her but a pretty figure,
and that you can't get a word out of her? Hers is the Fabian method of
making love and conquests. What do you suppose she said the night
before I left her?

"H. Could you not come and live with me as a friend?

"S. I don't know: and yet it would be of no use if I did, you would
always be hankering after what could never be!"

I asked her if she would do so at once--the very next day? And what do
you guess was her answer--"Do you think it would be prudent?" As I
didn't proceed to extremities on the spot, she began to look grave, and
declare off. "Would she live with me in her own house--to be with me
all day as dear friends, if nothing more, to sit and read and talk with
me?"--"She would make no promises, but I should find her the
same."--"Would she go to the play with me sometimes, and let it be
understood that I was paying my addresses to her?"--"She could not, as a
habit--her father was rather strict, and would object."--Now what am I
to think of all this? Am I mad or a fool? Answer me to that, Master
Brook! You are a philosopher.

LETTER III

Dear Friend, I ought to have written to you before; but since I received
your letter, I have been in a sort of purgatory, and what is worse, I
see no prospect of getting out of it. I would put an end to my torments
at once; but I am as great a coward as I have been a dupe. Do you know
I have not had a word of answer from her since! What can be the reason?
Is she offended at my letting you know she wrote to me, or is it some
new affair? I wrote to her in the tenderest, most respectful manner,
poured my soul at her feet, and this is the return she makes me! Can
you account for it, except on the admission of my worst doubts
concerning her? Oh God! can I bear after all to think of her so, or
that I am scorned and made a sport of by the creature to whom I had
given my whole heart? Thus has it been with me all my life; and so will
it be to the end of it!--If you should learn anything, good or bad, tell
me, I conjure you: I can bear anything but this cruel suspense. If I
knew she was a mere abandoned creature, I should try to forget her; but
till I do know this, nothing can tear me from her, I have drank in
poison from