June 6.
I have decided to go. I had some shopping to do anyway, and I can do better there than here or in Chicago.
June 10.
When I arrived here, Robert had a beautiful suite of rooms engaged for me at the Fifth Avenue Hotel. He told me more about his life at home, and its deficiencies, and that his health was failing him. I am dreadfully worried about him, he looks badly. I wonder what I ought to do? If she only knew how he felt and that she was the cause of it, she might do differently, but it is such a delicate matter, I am afraid to interfere. I pity him so much. He is coming to see me tonight. He has said no word, but the hungry look in his eyes speaks to my heart more forcibly than words. He will take me in his arms again tonight, and once more I shall feel the thrill when our lips meet in one long kiss, and maybe I shall say, “Robert, take me for your own, if it will restore you to health.”
June 12.
Robert came. We talked over the whole matter. I asked him if there was anyone else in his life. He said no! That he had never loved anyone but me. Then—then, I put myself in his arms and said, “Robert, take me!” He said, “Little girl, are you sure you want to make the sacrifice?” I said, “Yes.” I gave myself willingly for pity’s sake, not for love, because I do not love him. Then our compact was sealed with a kiss. Our lips met, and soon I was all his.
How can I entrust this to you, my silent friend? How can I sully your white pages with a relation of my conduct. The world would call me bad if it knew. I should not be the highly respected Louise Montgomery, that I have always been, and all because I have chosen to bring happiness to one who was dying for love.
I wonder if I can go back to the old scenes and feel the same; feel that I am worthy to mingle with the old friends. Yet why should I feel thus? If anyone is wronged it is I. It must be the imaginings of a super-sensitive conscience, or the result of early training which makes me feel unworthy. I wonder what our Rector would say if he could look down into my heart and see; can it be possible that there are others in our set who are as guilty—I must not think it, much less write it. But after all, I do not regret. I have made a sacrifice for a worthy cause.