Now I was at peace with all the world except John Haverford. Haverford was in love with Geraldine Holabird, but as I felt sure of her affection, I was not able to get up any violent jealousy on her account. Geraldine has since told me that if she had known I felt so confident of her affection she would have supplied me with several emotions on that score of an exceedingly violent nature; I don't believe it. However, I complied with the other directions, and I even contrived to assume a reasonable amount of faith, but I could not quite manage the separation. I could apparently concentrate my vital force on one spot, for instance; but, exert myself as I would, I could not break the tie. The idea possessed me; I could think of nothing else. Geraldine says I was the most intensely unsatisfactory lover at this time that one could imagine, and that she had serious thoughts of giving me up for John Haverford. Our love, which was a secret affair,--and none the less sweet for that, by the way,--was violently opposed by the heads of both our houses, there being some grudge between them. Although I was devoted to her and she to me, as I now know, though I did not at the time, yet I had never dared to take more of a lover's privilege than a respectful salute upon her hand. Geraldine was a tall and extremely dignified girl, and how she ever came to meet me clandestinely and write me those little notes--I have them yet--I don't know. She says she doesn't either. But to come back to my experiment. My want of complete success preyed upon me. I grew thin, lost my appetite, could think of nothing but that. This, I imagine, was one of the reasons for my final success. Geraldine says I ought not to have said that, as it will spoil the dénouement. However, it is too late now. One afternoon, more than usually discouraged at my repeated failures, when I was about to consign the volume to the fire as a false prophet, my sister, who acted as our Mercury, threw a note into my room from Geraldine. I opened it, I must confess, rather listlessly. Good heavens! Her father had discovered my last letter, he was furiously angry, swore she should marry John Haverford, and she was now locked in her own room; I would recognize it by the white ribbon hanging from the window-sill, and I must do something soon, for her father was terribly angry, and she loved me and me only, her own Harry,--and you know the rest! (Geraldine protests against these unflattering allusions to her notes.)