"I will tell you some time, but not now; for the ballet has begun, and you must return to the box."
His manner had suddenly become cold and formal, and so it remained until we bade each other good-night at the door of the theatre.
Between my troublesome thoughts and my still more troublesome cold, I rested ill that night. George was surprised that I did not believe that story about him. He must think that I hate and despise him, to believe such a tale as that. There was a throb of indignation in my heart when that stranger so indifferently spoke the words which maligned his character, and I felt inclined to remonstrate with her myself when I saw that George continued silent.
It is strange how my feelings have changed towards him. If he were not in love with me, perhaps I should still think him conceited and insincere; but it is astonishing how that one fact changes everything. I don't know whether it is vanity or some other trait, lurking in the shadowy part of my character, which makes me think favorably of any one who likes me. Certainly, I have a decided preference for people who exhibit that good taste.
Tuesday.
This letter was brought to me yesterday afternoon:—
My dear Miss Romilly,—I promised to tell you some time my version of the story which you overheard last night. I am sure I shall find it impossible to relate
