I wonder if I shall like him?

My pen is running away into mere speculation. Let me return to sober
matter of fact. It is certain that Sir Percival's reception of my
venturesome proposal to live with his wife was more than kind, it was
almost affectionate. I am sure Laura's husband will have no reason to
complain of me if I can only go on as I have begun. I have already
declared him to be handsome, agreeable, full of good feeling towards
the unfortunate and full of affectionate kindness towards me. Really,
I hardly know myself again, in my new character of Sir Percival's
warmest friend.

20th.--I hate Sir Percival! I flatly deny his good looks. I consider
him to be eminently ill-tempered and disagreeable, and totally wanting
in kindness and good feeling. Last night the cards for the married
couple were sent home. Laura opened the packet and saw her future name
in print for the first time. Sir Percival looked over her shoulder
familiarly at the new card which had already transformed Miss Fairlie
into Lady Glyde--smiled with the most odious self-complacency, and
whispered something in her ear. I don't know what it was--Laura has
refused to tell me--but I saw her face turn to such a deadly whiteness
that I thought she would have fainted. He took no notice of the
change--he seemed to be barbarously unconscious that he had said
anything to pain her. All my old feelings of hostility towards him
revived on the instant, and all the hours that have passed since have
done nothing to dissipate them. I am more unreasonable and more unjust
than ever. In three words--how glibly my pen writes them!--in three
words, I hate him.

21st.--Have the anxieties of this anxious time shaken me a little, at
last? I have been writing, for the last few days, in a tone of levity
which, Heaven knows, is far enough from my heart, and which it has
rather shocked me to discover on looking back at the entries in my
journal.

Perhaps I may have caught the feverish excitement of Laura's spirits
for the last week. If so, the fit has already passed away from me, and
has left me in a very strange state of mind. A persistent idea has
been forcing itself on my attention, ever since last night, that
something will yet happen to prevent the marriage. What has produced
this singular fancy? Is it the indirect result of my apprehensions for
Laura's future? Or has it been unconsciously suggested to me by the
increasing restlessness and irrit