I answered him⁠—more because my tongue is a woman’s, and must answer, than because I had anything convincing to say. It was only too plain that the course Laura had adopted the day before had offered him the advantage if he chose to take it⁠—and that he had chosen to take it. I felt this at the time, and I feel it just as strongly now, while I write these lines, in my own room. The one hope left is that his motives really spring, as he says they do, from the irresistible strength of his attachment to Laura.

Before I close my diary for tonight I must record that I wrote today, in poor Hartright’s interest, to two of my mother’s old friends in London⁠—both men of influence and position. If they can do anything for him, I am quite sure they will. Except Laura, I never was more anxious about anyone than I am now about Walter. All that has happened since he left us has only increased my strong regard and sympathy for him. I hope I am doing right in trying to help him to employment abroad⁠—I hope, most earnestly and anxiously, that it will end well.