few hours' happiness with you. And should it happen, as it did last time, that you say something cold or teasing, the words freeze into my heart, and everything seems hopeless until I see you again.
If I should send you this letter you would be unable to hide your ironical smile. You would say I was a fool, and for the moment I should agree with you—because I always agree with you for the moment—but afterwards your smile would make me desperately miserable.
You only want me as a happy face, a diversion now and again. While I am so recklessly yours I can do nothing—know nothing—be nothing, without you.
That is the reason this letter stays in my diary.
THAT which had to come has come. Erik and I have said good-bye to each other.
I am glad it is over, and that it happened so quietly and nicely. I feel it a relief; that I no longer have to dread Erik's astonished, inquiring, reproachful glances.
He had noticed that I was changing towards him. He felt that I was drifting further and further away from him,—without knowing why. I am glad that it is over. It was so hideous, it hurt me. It infuriated me to unjust hatred, made me act in a low and unworthy way.
