seder has gone, however, and every day Elizabeth
passes Whythe's office, and every day Whythe happens to be at his
window at the time of passing. They speak, but so far that is all. I
am sorry the picnic has to wait so long. They are two silly children.
Their fingers aren't in their mouths, but their heads are on the side
when they see each other, and the thing's getting on my nerves. Almost
any kind of sin is easier to stand than some sorts of silliness.

I wonder why I stay awake so much at night! It's very unusual, and I
try my best to go to sleep, but I can't sleep. Always I am thinking of
Mr. William Spencer Sloane and the things I would say to him if he were
in hearing distance. Not one line have I had from him for more than
two weeks. Not a card or a little present, which he usually sends from
every place he goes to, or any sign to show he is living. I got so mad
when I realized he hadn't noticed me for fourteen days that I couldn't
keep in things which had to come out, and, seeing Miss Susanna was
sleeping the sleep of worn-outness, I got up the other night and
lighted a candle behind the bed, and on the floor I wrote a letter that
maybe wasn't altogether as accurate as it might have been. I wouldn't
have sent it the next day if it hadn't been for a letter I got from
Jess, but after I read hers I sent mine flying.

I haven't cooled down yet from reading Jess's letter. I am not going
to cool down until I see the cause of it face to face, and if Billy
thinks it makes the least difference to me how he amuses himself or
with whom he spends his time sightseeing he thinks Wrong! I was going
to tear up the letter I had written him in the middle of the night for
the relief of indignations and because in the middle of the night
things seem so much bigger and harder and stranger than in the
daylight; but after I read the letter from Jess I added a postscript to
mine and almost ran down to the post-office to mail it, for fear if I
didn't do it quick I mightn't do it at all. Ever since I sent it off I
have been perfectly horrid, and I can hardly stand myself. I have put
off trying to make Whythe and Elizabeth see how stupid they are, and as
Elizabeth hasn't been very nice to me I haven't felt it to be my duty
to show her what a goose she is. Neither have I told Whythe that
almost any girl who adored him would do for his wife. As I don't adore
I wouldn't do, and I think he is beginning to take it in. A dozen