oor dogs
of men, Grizel, who open their letters from their loves knowing
exactly what will be inside--words of cheer, words of love, of
confidence, of admiration, which help them as they sit into the night
at their work, fighting for fame that they may lay it at their loved
one's feet. Discouragement, obloquy, scorn, they get in plenty from
others, but they are always sure of her,--do you hear, my original
Grizel?--those other dogs are always sure of her. Hurrah! Grizel, I
was happy, I was actually honoured, it was helping me to do better and
better, when you quickly put an end to all that. Hurrah, hurrah!"

I feel rather sorry for him. If he had not told her about his book it
was because she did not and never could understand what compels a man
to write one book instead of another. "I had no say in the matter; the
thing demanded of me that I should do it, and I had to do it. Some
must write from their own experience, they can make nothing of
anything else; but it is to me like a chariot that won't budge; I have
to assume a character, Grizel, and then away we go. I don't attempt to
explain how I write, I hate to discuss it; all I know is that those
who know how it should be done can never do it. London is overrun with
such, and everyone of them is as cock-sure as you. You have taken
everything else, Grizel; surely you might leave me my books."

Yes, everything else, or nearly so. He put upon the table all the
feathers he had extracted since his return to London, and they did
make some little show, if less than it seemed to him. That little
adventure in the park; well, if it started wrongly, it but helped to
show the change in him, for he had determinedly kept away from Mrs.
Jerry's house. He had met her once since the book came out, and she
had blushed exquisitely when referring to it, and said: "How you have
suffered! I blame myself dreadfully." Yes, and there was an unoccupied
sofa near by, and he had not sat down on it with her and continued the
conversation. Was not that a feather? And there were other ladies,
and, without going into particulars, they were several feathers
between them. How doggedly, to punish himself, he had stuck to the
company of men, a sex that never interested him!

"But all that is nothing. I am beyond the pale, I did so monstrous a
thing that I must die for it. What was this dreadful thing? When I saw
you with that glove I knew you loved me, and that you thought I loved
you, and I had not