I retired early to my chamber, without designing to sleep.

I placed myself at a window, and gave the reins to reflection.
The hateful and degrading impulses which had lately controuled me were, in some degree, removed.

New dejection succeeded, but was now produced by contemplating my late behaviour.

Surely that passion is worthy to be abhorred which obscures our understanding, and urges us to the commission of injustice.

What right had I to expect his attendance?
Had I not demeaned myself like one indifferent to his happiness, and as having bestowed my regards upon another?
His absence might be prompted by the love which I considered his absence as a proof that he wanted.
He came not because the sight of me, the spectacle of my coldness or aversion, contributed to his despair.