It is with great reluctance that I enter upon a subject which
has given me great pain, and upon which silence has become
impossible if I would preserve my self-respects
It is with great reluctance that I enter upon a subject which
has given me great pain, and upon which silence has become
impossible if I would preserve my self-respects. You cannot
but be aware that I have just reason for saying that you have
much displeased me. You have apparently forgotten what is due
to me, circumstanced as we are, thus far at least. You cannot
suppose that I can tamely see you disregard my feelings, by
conduct toward other ladies from which I should naturally
have the right to expect you to abstain. I am not so vulgar a
person as to be jealous. When there is cause to infer changed
feelings, or unfaithfulness to promises of constancy, jealousy
is not the remedy. What the remedy is I need not say–we both
of us have it in our hands. I am sure you will agree with me
that we must come to some understanding by which the future
shall be governed. Neither you nor I can bear a divided
allegiance. Believe me that I write more in sorrow than
in anger. You have made me very unhappy, and perhaps
thoughtlessly. But it will take much to reassure me of your
unaltered regard.
Leave a Reply
You must be logged in to post a comment.
