s, if she suffers, I suffer too. In the length and breadth of
England, I doubt if there is a much more wicked young woman to be found
than myself. Is it nothing to feel that, and to endure it as I do?

Upon my word, there is no excuse for me!

Is this sheer impudence? No; it is the bent of my nature. I have a
tendency to self-examination, accompanied by one merit--I don't spare
myself.

There are excuses for Eunice. She lives in a fools' paradise; and she
sees in her lover a radiant creature, shining in the halo thrown over
him by her own self-delusion, Nothing of this sort is to be said for me.
I see Philip as he is. My penetration looks into the lowest depths
of his character--when I am not in his company. There seems to be a
foundation of good, somewhere in his nature. He despises and hates
himself (he has confessed it to me), when Eunice is with him--still
believing in her false sweetheart. But how long do these better
influences last? I have only to show myself, in my sister's absence,
and Philip is mine body and soul. His vanity and his weakness take
possession of him the moment he sees my face. He is one of those
men--even in my little experience I have met with them--who are born to
be led by women. If Eunice had possessed my strength of character, he
would have been true to her for life.

Ought I not, in justice to myself, to have lifted my heart high above
the reach of such a creature as this? Certainly I ought! I know it, I
feel it. And yet, there is some fascination in having him which I am
absolutely unable to resist.

What, I ask myself, has fed the new flame which is burning in me? Did it
begin with gratified pride? I might well feel proud when I found
myself admired by a man of his beauty, set off by such manners and such
accomplishments as his. Or, has the growth of this masterful feeling
been encouraged by the envy and jealousy stirred in me, when I found
Eunice (my inferior in every respect) distinguished by the devotion of
a handsome lover, and having a brilliant marriage in view--while I was
left neglected, with no prospect of changing my title from Miss to Mrs.?
Vain inquiries! My wicked heart seems to have secrets of its own, and to
keep them a mystery to me.

What has become of my excellent education? I don't care to inquire; I
have got beyond the reach of good books and religious examples. Among
my other blamable actions there may now be reckoned disobedience to my
father. I have been rea