"What shall I now do? It was thy desire,--thine, and thine only to break off. Thou wouldst have spared me, and thyself, and thy parents, many painful feelings, if thou hadst acted with somewhat more consideration. It seems as if thou hadst made it thy pleasure to wind up my sensibilities to such a height, in order then to make me feel my nothingness. Thou hast succeeded. The maiden who, but shortly before, hung on my neck, and prayed assurances of my truth, has now not once the courage to say that she loves me. I am too serious for gallantry; and thou hast wofully erred, if thou hast classed me amongst such men. It seems we have neither of us known each other, and need therefore make no complaints of each other. That I have disturbed thy peace, forgive me. That thou hast created in me so many beautiful hopes, only again to destroy them; that through thee my joys are dashed to the ground, that will I forgive thee; lament my simplicity, and again class thee amongst the ordinary crowd of maidens. "Could I but do that, Emily, I should yet be happy enough. My seriousness has not pleased thee; and, in order to cure it, thou hast poured bitterness into it. I complain not of thy parents; they act according to their notions of duty; but how thou actest according to thy conception of duty, I cannot perceive. Thou hast neither acted towards thy father nor towards me as thou shouldst. The reasons which thy father gives are valid enough, as thou givest weight to them; but one thing more than all has struck me--it is called the fickleness of women.