Of course, you'll come to Dr. Thurston's on Sunday with me. I wonder if you wouldn't like to help in the Sunday-school library while you are in town? Mr. Stanwood's going down to Florida to see about his railroad there, and he's to take his daughter with him, so there's nobody to give out books on Sunday. But no matter about that, so long as you come soon. You know who will be waiting for you on the platform, trying to get a sight of you again after all these months. JACK. XIV NEW YORK, Feb. 22, 1895. DEAR MIRIAM,--Do be reasonable! That's all I ask. Don't get excited about nothing! I confess I don't understand you at all. I've heard of women carrying on this way, but I thought _you_ had more sense! You can't think how you distress me. After a long month in town here, when I'd seen you as often as I could and three or four times a week most always, suddenly you break out as you did yesterday after church; and then when I go to see you this evening you've packed up and gone home. Now, what had I done wrong yesterday? I can't see. After Sunday-school you were in the library and Miss Stanwood came in unexpectedly, just back from Florida. I introduced you to her, and she was very pleasant indeed. She wouldn't have been if she'd known how you made fun of her and called her the Gilt-Edged and all that--but then she didn't know. She was very friendly to you and said she hoped you were to be in town all winter, since Auburnvale must be so very dull. Well, it _is_ dull, and you know it, so you needn't have taken offense at that. Then she said the superintendent had asked her to get up a show for the Sunday-school--a sort of magic-lantern exhibition of those photographs of the Holy Land, and she wanted to know if I wouldn't help her. Of course, I said I would, and then you said the library was very hot and wouldn't I come out at once. And when we got out on the street you forbid my having anything to do with the show. Now, that's what I call unreasonable; and I'm sure you will say so, too, when you've had time to think it over. And why have you run away, so that I can't talk things over with you quietly and calmly? JACK. XV NEW YORK, March 3, 1895. MY DEAR MIRIAM,--Your letter is simply absurd. You say you "don't believe in that Miss Stanwood," and you want me to promise never to speak to her again. Now you can't mean that. It is too ridiculous. I confess you puzzle me more and more. I don't pretend to understand women, but you go beyond anything I ever heard of. What you ask is unworthy of you; it's unworthy of me. It's more--it's unchristian.