ve told her that she was my wife.
Her self-respect--everything that keeps a woman's head up--must have
induced her to think so. Why, she is not a fool! How can she mean
to give herself to an ignorant country donkey? She does not: mark
me. For her, who is a really--I may say, the most refined nature I
have ever met, to affect this, and think of deceiving me, does not
do credit to her wits--and she is not without her share.

"I did once mean that she should be honourably allied to me. It's
comforting that the act is not the wife of the intention, or I
should now be yoked to a mere thing of the seasons and the hours--a
creature whose 'No' to-day is the 'Yes' of to-morrow. Women of this
cast are sure to end comfortably for themselves, they are so
obedient to the whips of Providence.

"But I tell you candidly, Algy, I believe she's pushing me, that she
may see how far I will let her go. I do not permit her to play at
this game with me." The difficulty is in teaching women that we are
not constituted as they are, and that we are wilfully earnest, while
they, who never can be so save under compulsion, carry it on with
us, expecting that at a certain crisis a curtain will drop, and we
shall take a deep breath, join hands, and exclaim, 'What an exciting
play!'--weeping luxuriously. The actualities of life must be
branded on their backs--you can't get their brains to apprehend
them.

"Poor things! they need pity. I am ready to confess I did not keep
my promise to her. I am very sorry she has been ill. Of course,
having no brains--nothing but sensations wherewith to combat every
new revolution of fortune, she can't but fall ill. But I think of
her; and I wish to God I did not. She is going to enter her own
sphere--though, mark me, it will turn out as I say, that, when it
comes to the crisis, there will be shrieks and astonishment that the
curtain doesn't fall and the whole resolve itself to what they call
a dream in our language, a farce.

"I am astonished that there should be no letters for me. I can
understand her not writing at first; but apparently she cherishes
rancour. It is not like her. I can't help thinking there must be
one letter from her, and that you keep it back. I remember that I
told you when I left England I desired to have no letter forwarded
to me, but I have repeatedly asked you since if there was