your complete
self-confidence. It is seeing the enemy's point of view, and
sympathizing in spite of yourself with him, which upsets you.

That has been my state of mind ever since I was a small and
over-sensitive kid who wouldn't watch a terrier worry a rat because
something made me put myself at once in the rat's place. Wiser boys
called me a milksop and various other names, which I furiously resented
yet inwardly recognized as just. Also they kicked me at times, and
bashed me on the nose. I did my best in wild tempests of rage to kick
and bash them in return, and now and then I gave them back as good or
better than I had from them. But if I saw their blood flow, that same
ridiculous Something which went out to the rat sickened within me, and
was sorry.

I understand myself rather well, when I'm not in the grip of emotion;
but at present my eyes are blinded. I feel so intensely for myself and
for my sister that I'm not sure whether I act as I do more for her sake
or my own. Probably, however, it is for my own. And, curiously enough, I
dimly see past this brain-storm and heart-storm to some day of calmer
weather when it may still be possible to make use of myself and her,
and--the others, as "material." I don't know if I shall do this, yet it
may happen; and sometimes, even now, these disturbing incidents take
form in my mind as scenes for a future book. I suppose this shows that
the writer in me stands in front of the man. Some day I shall see myself
clearly again one way or the other.

It was going to be a pleasant little story, this Scotch romance Aline
and I had planned. I knew all the people in it intimately, and was in a
hurry to pick the lock of their prison with my pen, for they were
impatient to get out and begin to live and move. I thought Aline was
almost as much interested, though she never gets into such wild
enthusiasm over a new book that she can hardly wait to write it. She's
too well-balanced, and has too many outside interests, as a very pretty
and popular young woman should have; whereas, since the joy of writing
saved my life, it has always been first with me--until the other day.

With Aline, the mischief began on shipboard--or perhaps a little before,
though I realized then for the first time what was happening.

I have great faith in Aline's charm. I've seen several clever and
important men go down before it; but somehow I felt doubtful about
Somerled. If Aline has a lack--I may admit it here