to pen the following letter, which she sent.

Dear Eugene:

You will be surprised to get a letter from me and I want you to promise
me that you will never say anything about it to anyone--above all never
to Angela. Eugene, I have been watching her for a long time now and I
know she is not happy. She is so desperately in love with you. I notice
when a letter does not come promptly she is downcast and I can't help
seeing that she is longing to have you here with her. Eugene, why don't
you marry Angela? She is lovely and attractive now and she is as good as
she is beautiful. She doesn't want to wait for a fine house and
luxuries--no girl wants to do that, Eugene, when she loves as I know
Angela does you. She would rather have you now when you are both young
and can enjoy life than any fine house or nice things you might give her
later. Now, I haven't talked to her at all, Eugene--never one word--and
I know it would hurt her terribly if she thought I had written to you.
She would never forgive me. But I can't help it. I can't bear to see her
grieving and longing, and I know that when you know you will come and
get her. Don't ever indicate in any way, please, that I wrote to you.
Don't write to me unless you want to very much. I would rather you
didn't. And tear up this letter. But do come for her soon, Eugene,
please do. She wants you. And she will make you a perfectly wonderful
wife for she is a wonderful girl. We all love her so--papa and mamma and
all. I hope you will forgive me. I can't help it.

"With love I am yours,

"Marietta."

When Eugene received this letter he was surprised and astonished, but
also distressed for himself and Angela and Marietta and the whole
situation. The tragedy of this situation appealed to him perhaps as much
from the dramatic as from the personal point of view. Little Angela,
with her yellow hair and classic face. What a shame that they could not
be together as she wished; as really, in a way, he wished. She was
beautiful--no doubt of that. And there was a charm about her which was
as alluring as that of any girl barring the intellectually exceptional.
Her emotions in a way were deeper than those of Miriam Finch and
Christina Channing. She could not reason about them--that was all. She
just felt them. He saw all the phases of her anguish--the probable
attitude of her parents, her own feelings at being looked at by them,
the way her friends wondered. It was a shame, no doubt o