I remember being somewhat surprised at the apparent approval of the fine audience, but that may have been due in a measure to the delightful acting of the various parts. I had not been to the Lyceum for a long time and did not remember to have seen the "wronged young man" before, but he made a most favorable impression on me as more natural and less stagey than the average. The "villain,"--the masculine one--was an excellent actor, also. As for the "wicked" woman, I thought, if Marjorie failed me, I would give her an invitation to spend the rest of the winter in the Caribbean. Sunday was weariness itself. I poured over the newspapers, took a walk, managed to get a short nap, for I was tired, ate my lunch, and then, to fill up the time, wrote a letter to Miss Brazier, in defense of myself from the severe attack that unknown young woman had made. It was a silly proceeding, but I liked to write about Marjorie, even to one wholly unknown, and this is what I said, as near as I can remember it: Dear Alice (Ben Bolt):--I feel justified in calling you "Alice," now it is settled that you are not to be my companion for long and (to you, doubtless) weary weeks, a liberty I should never have dreamed of taking had you decided to go. I do not know in what way I have offended you, which I judge by your letter to be the case, but as the children say, "If I've done anything I'm sorry for, I'm glad of it." (Of course I don't mean exactly that.) The reason I write this is to ask you to dine with me (in a highly respectable public dining room--no cabinet particulaire, mind!) some evening before the 12th, when I am to sail. If you will do this, I will fill your shell-like ears with such an account of your Rival that you will acquit her of intending any of the horrors you intimate. She is neither, I believe, a sinful creature nor a dunce--just a sweet, strong-minded, trusting seeker after change and rest. And I don't like your insinuations, either, about my own moral character. If you knew me, I should not blame you so much, but as you don't--it's simply reprehensible. I have no intention of "soiling my soul," or that of any other person, but if that awful event happens (I wonder how I would look with a soiled soul!) you will be to blame. If you really thought I was in danger, why did you not do the patriotic thing and offer to go in her place? That would have disposed of the s--s--possibility.