A PLATONIC QUARREL.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 1095, 24 February 1893, Page 11

A PLATONIC QUARREL.

I know not who is to blame. I know I loved her, and love her still. But perhaps after all it were better to say I liked her. ’Tis more in keeping with that safeguard of the initiated, namely, platonic friendship. My memory carries me back to days long ago. I hope, for many reasons, there will never be a repetition of the said days. Our friendship was gradual. I don’t want t® appear conceited, but I must say that the desire for more than passing acquaintance was on her side. 'Tis true we communed together on mutual subjects, but I interested myself, as in duty bound. We would part in anger, I with, a feeling like lead in my heart. She would be left alone, and the light would die from her soul. lam not conceited ; 'twas a fact. I would make solemn vows never to go near her again. My decision was generally irrevocable and lasted as a rule for about 5 hours. I will be candid, I admit she would never come to me ; in that respect she was propriety itself. On the other hand I would go to her with a feeling of anger and shame at my own weakness. After a good dinner a man’s firm resolutions are not hard to overcome. The prospect of a dull evening, with nothing to do, will shake any man’s aversion to giving in to his little weakness. Well, to bring matters to a close, the more I saw of her the more she took possession of my heart. My visits became more frequent and lasted longer every time. My every thought, my most carefully guarded secrets, I confided to her. Our friendship was of a strictly platonic order, and I loved her like a sister. I would come to her with sorrow in my heart. In a few moments she would soothe my nerves; and while with her I was happy. 'Twas only last night we quarrelled. Perhaps it was my fault. In fact lam feeling sorry. I wish to see her again. But no ; I owe some respect to my will power, or stubbornness, or whatever it is. I will break with her now and for ever. lam not sure how the quarrel started. It might have been my fault—l don’t know, I was feeling 1 hipped,’ unusually so. My conscience says I was disagreeable over a financial question. Perhaps so ; I feel too unhappy to argue the point. I sat by the fire thinking. I had just come to the end of my tobacco (Golden Eagle—expensive stuff). I scraped her out with my knife, carefully filled her, and struck a light. She would not 1 draw.!, I struck her impatiently on the knob of the fender, then tried again. She lighted all right, but kept spluttering and sucking. As I observed before 1 was feeling ‘ hipped.' With an exclamation of auger I threw her from me to the far end of the room. I admit it was brutal, but then I felt bad ; and Golden Eagle was 2s a cake. I loved her, and I love her still. She lies in the corner. The fire has gone out of her soul. It is drawing near dinner. Anyhow, I’ll buy some more tobacco and consider the question. R. S. ALLAN.