I read the letter through with not a little dissatisfaction, though I could not see how to amend it. It had been so difficult to say sufficient to serve the purpose without giving some clue to the truth. I could not help a little bitter smile at the reflection how very different would his judgment of that letter have been if he loved me! How scornfully would such excuses have been swept away if I had been the woman he loved! How angrily he would have taunted me for being what in fact I should have been had I deliberately wronged him! Alas! I was writing to a man whose love for me was dead, and who yet desired to act honourably towards me. He would not be inclined to be unkindly critical about my _manner_ of setting him free, if I could only contrive to make him believe that I wished to do so.
To Lilian I wrote in a somewhat more jaunty strain. Better that my letter should seem to be written even flightily than sadly. But I had been so little accustomed to this kind of diplomacy, that I was astonished as well as saddened to find how close one might keep to the truth in the letter, whilst departing so far from it in the spirit. Neither to Philip nor to Lilian did I dare to tell the truth, and yet I could write all this without appearing to depart from it! Fortunately this kind of diplomacy blinds none who are not inclined to be blinded.
'MY DEAR SISTER--You must try not to be very angry with me for running away without bidding you farewell in some better fashion than this. But by acting as I am doing, I avoid your scoldings, or perhaps I had better say pleadings. It is really no use arguing with a person like me, as I think you have discovered before now. And as I have very deliberately made up my mind, there really is nothing to be done. You have, I know, been a great deal puzzled of late to account for the change which you have perceived in me, and as I could not explain it without shocking you, I have waited to get out of the way first. Dear Lilian, I was not in jest when I told you I had begun to suspect that marriage is not my vocation; and I have at length come to the conclusion to obey my instincts, which tend in another direction. I believe that you will in time agree with me in thinking that I have done for the best; though I fear you will be very angry with me at first, not being able to see all my motives. Please get dear Mrs Tipper to ask Philip to come down sometimes, and try what you both can do to cheer and comfort him. He knows so few people, and he will be so terribly lonely. I must trust that in time he will come to acknowledge that I may not be altogether so selfish and inconsiderate as I must appear to be to him and to all of you in the first moments of disappointment. I will say this much to you, dear sister--I feel, and the feeling is not altogether of sudden growth, that I am too old for Philip; or perhaps I ought rather to say he is too young for me. At anyrate I have chosen a different life, and only wait until I feel sure that you have all forgiven me, to prove to you that I am happy in it. Say all that is kind to dear Mrs Tipper for me. I must hope to be able to prove my gratitude to her by-and-by. Ah Lilian, my sister, if I dared to write about my hopes! I can only say that if Philip is in time fortunate enough to find some good woman willing to make up for the past to him, my gratitude towards her will be very great. I am going away because I think it is best for us all that I should go, and because the persuasions which your love might prompt you to use would not induce me to alter my decision. I have begged Philip to try to believe in a sister's love, and I ask you too, dear Lilian, to believe in the love of your sister