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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.