Kingsley was already at my office when I reached it, and soon after came Mr. Wharton, followed by two of our opponents. We were engaged with them the better part of the morning. When the business hours were consumed, our transactions remained unfinished, and another meeting was appointed for the ensuing day. I invited Wharton as well as Kingsley to join us in our afternoon rambles, which they both promised to do. I went home something sooner to make preparations, and only recollected, on seeing Julia, that I had thrown the letter from her mother, with other papers, into my desk. When I told her of the letter, her countenance changed to a death-like paleness which instantly attracted my notice. “What is the matter--are you sick, Julia!” “No! nothing. But the letter--where is it?” “I threw it on my table, or in my desk, with other papers, to have them out of the way; and hurrying home sooner than usual, forgot to bring it with me. I suppose there's nothing in it of any importance?” “No, nothing, I suppose,” she answered faintly. I told her what I had done with respect to our guests. “I am very sorry,” she answered, “that you have done so. I do not feel like company, and wished to have you all to myself.” “Oh, selfish; but of this I will believe moderately! As for company, with the exception of Wharton, they are old friends; and it would not do to take a pleasure ramble, with poor Edgerton here, and not make him a party.” There was an earnest intensity of gaze, almost amounting to a painful stare, in Julia's eyes, as I said these words. She really seemed distressed. “But really, Edward, our pleasure ramble is not such a one as would make it a duty to invite your friends. How difficult it seems for you to understand me. Could not we two stroll a piece into the woods without having witnesses?” “Why, is that all? Why then should you have made a formal appointment for such a purpose? Could we not have gone as before--without premeditation?” The question puzzled her. She looked anxious. Had she answered with sincerity--with truth--and could I have believed her to have been sincere, how easy would it have been to have settled our difficulties. Had she said--“I really wish to avoid Mr. Edgerton, whose presence annoys me--who will be sure to come--when you are sure to be gone--and whom I have particular reasons to wish not to meet--not to see.” This, which might be the truth, she did not dare to speak. She had her reasons for her apprehension. This, which was reasonable enough, I could not conjecture; for the demon of the blind heart was too busy in suggesting other conjectures. It was evident enough that she had secret motives for her course, which she did not venture to reveal to me; and nothing could be more natural, in the diseased state of my mind, than that I should give the worst colorings to these motives in the conjectures which I made upon them. We were destined to play at cross-purposes much longer, and with more serious issues.