She did not consider him a criminal, but she thought him Godless and rebellious toward his Saviour.
She wrote him quaint, formal little notes, which began abruptly, "My Friend." They contained much matter which was hortatory, but at times she became girlish and very charming.

Gradually she dropped the tone which she had caught from revivalists and wrote of her studies and of the doings of each member of the class, and all other subjects which a young girl finds valuable material of conversation.

She was just becoming acquainted with Victor Hugo and his resounding, antithetic phrases, and his humanitarian outcries filled her mind with commotion.
Her heart swelled high with resolution to do something to help the world in general and Harold in particular.
She was not one in whom passion ruled; the intellectual dominated the passional in her, and, besides, she was only a child.

She was by no means as mature as Harold, although about the same age.

Naturally reverent, she had been raised in a family where religious observances never remitted; where grace was always spoken.