Dear Sir,
Having performed the last reluctant office of taking leave of you, after an evening in which our friendship had begun, perhaps, to assume a more endearing character, I watched you depart and turned upon my heel, more thoughtful than ever. I must say, the glass of wine you offered had tempted me—I confess I would gladly have taken it—but there are pleasures whose sweetness lies too near the source of that mischief against which I have so long guarded myself. Therefore, I refused it, not from the lack of desire, but from the conviction that some doors, once wisely closed, ought not be opened again. I am fairly certain you must now be thinking what a dull and stubborn man I have become, having declined so innocent a glass. Yet, by way of explanation—and perhaps a little in my own defence—I should like to share with you the dialogue that passed silently within me: between my Heart, animated by passion and eager for the pleasures of the moment, and Head, instructed by reason and somewhat chastened by experience.
