-although he wrote many answers,
each in turn revised, corrected, copied, and recopied, only to be
destroyed in the end. But at last he forced himself to meet truth with
truth, cutting what crudity he could from his letter:

"You ask me what I think of you; but that question should properly
come from me. What do _you_ think of a man who exhorts and warns a
woman to stand fast, and then stands dumb at the first impact of
temptation?

"A sight for gods and men--that man! Is there any use for me to
stammer out trite phrases of self-contempt? The fact remains that I
am unfit to advise, criticise, or condemn anybody for anything; and
it's high time I realised it.

"If words of commendation, of courage, of kindly counsel, are
needed by anybody in this world, I am not the man to utter them.
What a hypocrite must I seem to you! I who sat there beside you
preaching platitudes in strong self-complacency, instructing you
how morally edifying it is to be good and unhappy.

"Then, what happened? I don't know exactly; but I'm trying to be
honest, and I'll tell you what I think happened:

"You are--you; I am--I; and we are still those same two people who
understood neither the impulse that once swept us together, nor the
forces that tore us apart--ah, more than that! we never understood
each other! And we do not now.

"That is what happened. We were too near together again; the same
spark leaped, the same blindness struck us, the same impulse swayed
us--call it what we will!--and it quickened out of chaos, grew from
nothing into unreasoning existence. It was the terrific menace of
emotion, stunning us both--simply because you are you and I am I.
And that is what happened.

"We cannot deny it; we may not have believed it possible--or in
fact considered it at all. I did not; I am sure you did not. Yet it
occurred, and we cannot deny it, and we can no more explain or
understand it than we can understand each other.

"But one thing we do know--not through reason but through sheer
instinct: We cannot venture to meet again--that way. For I, it
seems, am a man like other men except that I lack character; and
you are--_you_! still unchanged--with all the mystery of
attraction, all the magic force of vitality, all the esoteric
subtlety with which you enveloped me