* * * * *

Before I go to bed I must write a word or two.  Ah, how much happier I am than I was last night!  He came at eight punctually.  I trembled all over when I shook hands with him:  I think he must have seen it, but he said nothing.  What a wonderful thing this thing they call high breeding is!  One feels it in a moment, and yet it seems intangible, indescribable.  He has it, I should think, in perfection, and he is the only person I have ever known who possessed it, except, perhaps that young girl, his cousin, whom he presented to me at the party.  For a while we talked—­at least he did—­easily and pleasantly, and then suddenly he said, smiling at me, “Do you know, I think you are a very generous woman?”

“Do you?  Why?” said I.

“Because you are willing to shoulder other people’s peccadilloes.  Don’t you know a woman should never do that, especially for a man, who is naturally selfish and can always take care of himself?”

I did not like the word peccadilloes, but I only said, “So can a woman take care of herself.”

“Do you really believe that?” he said with a gleam in his blue eyes.

“Really, I do.  I am sure, at least, that I can take care of myself.”

“Are you?” said he.  We were sitting beside each other on the sofa, and in another moment he had put his arm about me and drawn me to him.  I could not resist him—­his voice, his eyes, his sweet words.  I loved him and was happy.  It was a heaven of delight to be so near him; and how natural it seemed!  He said little, nor did I speak many words:  he held me in his arms, kissed me many times on my hands, cheeks and lips; and then suddenly, almost abruptly, he left me, pleading an engagement.  But my happiness did not go with him.  I am happy in the conviction that he loves me, and I feel strong to make him all my own.  He will come again to-morrow.  He did not say so:  no need to say so—­he will surely come.  He is poor, I know.  What of that?  I earn a good income, and together we can defy the world.  I shall be able to convert him from his prejudices and narrow notions, now that he loves me.  What an acquisition to our cause!  He loves me as I am.  I have yielded nothing, I have sacrificed nothing—­not one iota of principle, not an inch of ground.  He has come to me because he loves me.  I can influence him to think as I do of woman’s nature and sphere.  My single life will convince him of the justice of my ideas, and having known me, he can never “decline on a lower range of feelings and a narrower sphere than mine.”

I am triumphant, I am successful:  I could sing a song of rejoicing.  Have I not always felt sure that a woman’s true attraction does not depend on the false attitude in which she is placed by men?  This man has seen me as I am, and I have drawn him to me.