and shed a golden light on everything round me, has vanished, giving place to moodiness and fear, which only now and again changes into nervous merriment and the desire for excitement and noise around me. Never before has my own home seemed so poor, and cold, and grey, as when I return from playing the mistress of your house. As we sit eating our dinner in mournful dulness, there rises within me a sudden longing, a feeling of loneliness, and I have to bite my lips together to keep myself from bursting into tears.
But in the twilight, it is generally worst, when I sit huddled up in my corner of the window. Then the doubts come stealing out, pushing their clammy, rat-like snouts into my mind, Where is he now? Who is with him? Is he at a party with charming and fascinating women? Is he looking at them with love in his eyes, as when he bends over me? Is his voice gentle and bewitching as when he whispers to me? What am I to him now? Does he give me a thought, or does he in other arms forget his Julie?
I know, dear one, I have no right to ask for accounts; you have never promised me faithfulness, and I love you too much ever to ask it. We made no contract and no conditions when I gave myself to you, and of course I ought to have known that I was not the only one.
I don't ask for more now. Only I wish you to understand that I need you terribly, and that you must be good to me. I have to live for days on the
