She felt at a loss what steps to take in responding to the contents of the letter, because she was anxious to take the one which should be most cheering to him--that should not wound him by condolement--should express her sympathy and regret, and at the same time assure him that it should make no difference in the esteem--the profound esteem--she entertained for him. She disliked the word “esteem;” it was cold and inexpressive, yet it was proper to think it as well as use it. She felt herself to be in an embarrassing position. Her impulses suggested to her to write a long and loving letter to Vivian, but she was conscious of other considerations, which forbade her consulting only self in the matter. Now it happened about this time that Mark Wilton made the discovery that no inconsiderable portion of his time was occupied in conjuring up the face and form of Lotte Clinton, and in framing small dramas, the incidents of which were strikingly romantic, and in which he and she played the principal parts. For many years Mark’s path in life had been rough hewn, and he had been compulsorily self-reliant. He could by no means brook trammels. He, therefore, acted as impulse directed, never believing that his father could or ought to have any further control over him. So, after making an imaginary better acquaintance with Lotte, passing through a number of visionary love-scenes, in which the young lady was supposed to display a vast deal of fond confidence, and to give faint utterance to the most pleasing open confessions, it is hardly surprising that he should come to the conclusion that she was precisely the person to become Mrs. Mark Wilton, and precisely the person who should become Mrs. Mark Wilton. He had, nevertheless, his misgivings. They would obtrude, unwelcome enough in all conscience, and did not altogether agree with his proud, free sense of independence.