circumventing certain others, and actually supposing she was happy. Happy? She was not. She was most wretched. She was blind and deaf. She was asleep. She was only half a woman. What is the good or the beauty of anything, alive or dead, in the world, that has not fulfilled its destiny? And I never saw that before. I never saw a great many things before. I am amazed at the suddenness of my awaking. Love passed through this house today, this house that other people think is just the same dull place it was yesterday, and behold--well, I won't grow magnificent, and it is what you do if you begin a sentence with Behold. But really there's a splendor--oh well. And as for this room where you--where I--where we--well, I won't grow sentimental either, though now I know, I who always scoffed at it, how fatally easy a thing it is to be. That is, supposing one has had great provocation; and haven't I? Oh, haven't I? I had got as far as that when your beloved Professor Martens came in, very much agitated because he had missed you at the station, where he had been to give you a send-off. And what do you think he said? He said, why did I sit in this dreary hole without a lamp, and why didn't I draw the curtains, and shut out the fog and drizzle. Fog and drizzle? It really seemed too funny. Why, the whole sky is shining. And as for the dreary hole--gracious heavens, is it possible that just being old made him not able to feel how the air of the room was still quivering with all you said to me, with all the sweet, wonderful, precious things you said to me? The place was full of you. And there was your darling coffee-cup still where you had put it down, and the very rug we stood on still all ruffled up. 'I think it's a glorious hole,' I couldn't help saying. '_De gustibus_' said he indulgently; and he stretched himself in the easy-chair--the one you used to sit in--and said he should miss young Anstruther. 'Shall you?' said I. 'Fräulein Rose-Marie,' said he solemnly, 'he was a most intelligent young man. Quite the most intelligent young man I have ever had here.' 'Really?' said I, smiling all over my silly face. And so of course you were, or how would you ever have found out that I--well, that I'm not wholly unlovable? Yours quite, quite truly, R.-M. II Jena, Nov. 7th. Dear Roger,--You left on Tuesday night--that's yesterday--and you'll get to London on Thursday morning--that's to-morrow--and first you'll want to wash yourself, and have breakfast--please notice my extreme reasonableness--and it will be about eleven before you are able to begin to write to me. I shan't get the letter till Saturday, and today is only Wednesday, so how can I stop myself from writing to you again, I should like to know? I simply can't. Besides, I want to tell you all the heaps of important things I would have told you yesterday, if there had been time when you asked me in that amazing sudden way if I'd marry you.