n I left the room, and saw the friend of
Father Time in the easy chair opening our newspaper.

This is a specimen of the customary encounter of our wits. I place it on
record in my Journal, to excuse myself _to_ myself. When she left us
at last, later in the day, I sent a letter after her to the hotel. Not
having kept a copy of it, let me present the substance, like a sermon,
under three heads: I begged to be excused for speaking plainly; I
declared that there was a total want of sympathy between us, on my side;
and I proposed that she should deprive me of future opportunities of
receiving her in this house. The reply arrived immediately in these
terms: "Your letter received, dear girl. I am not in the least angry;
partly because I am very fond of you, partly because I know that you
will ask me to come back again. P. S.: Philip sends his love."

This last piece of insolence was unquestionably a lie. Philip detests
her. They are both staying at the same hotel. But I happen to know that
he won't even look at her, if they meet by accident on the stairs.

People who can enjoy the melancholy spectacle of human nature in a state
of degradation would be at a loss which exhibition to prefer--an
ugly old maid in a rage, or an ugly old maid in tears. Miss Jillgall
presented herself in both characters when she heard what had happened.
To my mind, Mrs. Tenbruggen's bosom-friend is a creature not fit to be
seen or heard when she loses her temper. I only told her to leave
the room. To my great amusement, she shook her bony fist at me, and
expressed a frantic wish: "Oh, if I was rich enough to leave this wicked
house!" I wonder whether there is insanity (as well as poverty) in Miss
Jillgall's family?

Last night my mind was in a harassed state. Philip was, as usual, the
cause of it.

Perhaps I acted indiscreetly when I insisted on his leaving London, and
returning to this place. But what else could I have done? It was not
merely my interest, it was an act of downright necessity, to withdraw
him from the influence of his hateful father--whom I now regard as the
one serious obstacle to my marriage. There is no prospect of being rid
of Mr. Dunboyne the elder by his returning to Ireland. He is trying a
new remedy for his crippled hand--electricity. I wish it was lightning,
to kill him! If I had given that wicked old man the chance, I am firmly
convinced he would not have let a day pass without doing his best to
depreciate me in his