I knew what I had done to you.
I used to tell myself that you gave me up very easily, that you did not really want me.

But I knew in my heart that you did.

But it only made me bitter, and I put the thought away.

That time, it is ten years ago; good God! it is all so long ago, when you nearly died of scarlet fever in London, I heard of it by chance when you were at your worst, I was shocked, but I did not really care, for I had long ceased to want you.

I used to visit a certain woman every day in that street, and I once asked her who the straw was down for, and she said it was for a 'Miss Magdalen Bellairs.' I was in love with her at the moment, if you can call it love.