Robert was here tonight and Florence had gone to the theater, we were left alone. He took me in his arms and kissed me again and again and every kiss thrilled me like an electric shock. I felt the blood tingling to the ends of my fingers. I never felt so strange in my life. I pulled away from him as soon as I could, but, oh, those kisses. They seemed to intoxicate me. I felt as if I had been transported to Elysian fields, and could die happy right there with my lips pressed to his. We had such a nice visit. He says I am his guiding star, and that everything has gone better since he knew me. I told him that he must never forget his wife and he assured me that he would not, could not when he had such a sweet reminder, even if she were not always so good and kind. He said, too, that she could not satisfy the longings in his soul which had been there for years, until he met me. That a man must have love, sympathy and encouragement to fill his life and make it complete. JUNE 4. I had a telegram from New York this morning. It was from Robert asking me to meet him there. I—shall I go or shall I not? JUNE 6. I have decided to go. I had some shopping to do anyway, and I can do better there than here or in Chicago. JUNE 10. When I arrived here, Robert had a beautiful suite of rooms engaged for me at the Fifth Avenue Hotel. He told me more about his life at home, and its deficiencies, and that his health was failing him. I am dreadfully worried about him, he looks badly. I wonder what I ought to do? If she only knew how he felt and that she was the cause of it, she might do differently, but it is such a delicate matter, I am afraid to interfere. I pity him so much. He is coming to see me tonight. He has said no word, but the hungry look in his eyes speaks to my heart more forcibly than words. He will take me in his arms again tonight, and once more I shall feel the thrill when our lips meet in one long kiss, and maybe I shall say, “Robert, take me for your own, if it will restore you to health.” JUNE 12. Robert came. We talked over the whole matter. I asked him if there was anyone else in his life. He said _no_! That he had never loved anyone but me. Then—then, I put myself in his arms and said, “Robert, take me!” He said, “Little girl, are you sure you want to make the sacrifice?” I said, “Yes.” I gave myself willingly for pity’s sake, not for love, because I do not love him. Then our compact was sealed with a kiss. Our lips met, and soon I was all his. How can I entrust this to you, my silent friend? How can I sully your white pages with a relation of my conduct. The world would call me bad if it knew. I should not be the highly respected Louise Montgomery, that I have always been, and all because I have chosen to bring happiness to one who was dying for love.