woman. Now I have proved it to be true. He does attract me. Why deny
it, either to myself or him? I do not, I will not. This I see and know
to be true. The other thing which seems clear to me is, that he is
only drawn by one side of his nature--that he does not want to love
me, perhaps can only half love me. Then, if that be so, I have done
wrong to show him my feelings. With his ideas about women, he would
feel it to be almost unmanly to fold his arms on his breast if a woman
put hers about his neck, as I did; and I fear I forced my love upon
him. I feel as I should think a man feels who has taken an unfair
advantage of a woman's fancy for him, and got from her graces and
favors to which her whole heart does not assent. I am not ashamed of
loving him: bear me witness, little book, I am not ashamed of loving
him, nor indeed of telling him so; only I would not "betray his will,"
as he said this afternoon. No, no: if he comes to me, it must be with
a whole and willing heart. Now that's resolved, what next? Write
to him of course, and tell him I am sorry to have led him into this
position, and say, "I won't do so again." Did a woman ever write to a
man before and beg his pardon for letting him kiss her? for throwing
her arms about his neck? I doubt it, but what does that matter? I
belong to the new era, and I will be the "Coming Woman." I laugh, but
I feel, after all, more like crying. Good-night, little book. I will
write to Mr. Lawrence in the morning. Now for bed.

_Dec_. 4. I wrote to him this morning, and sent my note by a
messenger. I could not work, I could neither think nor write, till his
answer came. He had made the bearer of my note wait, and wrote me
just a few words to ask if he might not see me to-night. I wrote back
"Yes," and now it is only four o'clock: he will not come till
eight. It seems an impossible time to wait, and I must not waste
the afternoon as I did the morning. Let me see: shall I finish that