On Christmas-day Rachel O\'Mahony wrote a letter to her lover at Morony Castle:
 

    Cecil Street, Christmas-day, 1880.

    Dearest Frank,

    You do love me, don\'t you? What\'s the use of my loving you, and thinking that you are everything, only that you are to love me? I am quite content that it should be so. Only let it be so. You\'ll ask me what reason I have to be jealous. I am not jealous. I do think in my heart that you think that I\'m—just perfect. And when I tell myself that it is so, I lay myself back in my chair and kiss at you with my lips till I am tired of kissing the space where you ain\'t. But if I am wrong, and if you are having a good time of it with Miss Considine at Mrs. McKeon\'s ball, and are not thinking a bit of me and my kisses, what\'s the use? It\'s a very unfair bargain that a woman makes with a man. "Yes; I do love you," I say,—"but—" Then there\'s a sigh. "Yes; I\'ll love you," you say—"if—" Then there\'s a laugh. If I tell a fib, and am not worth having, you can always recuperate. But we can\'t recuperate. I\'m to go about the world and be laughed at, as the girl that Frank Jones made a fool of. Oh! Mr. Jones, if you treat me in that way, won\'t I punish you? I\'ll jump into the lough with a label round my neck telling the whole story. But I am not a bit jealous, because I know you are good.

    And now I must tell you a bit more of my history. We got rid of that lovely hotel, paying ￡6 10s., when that just earned ￡1. And I have brought the piano with me. The man at Erard\'s told me that I should have it for ￡2 10s. a month, frankly owning that he hoped to get my custom. "But Mr. Moss is to pay nothing?" I asked. He swore that Mr. Moss would have to pay nothing, and leave what occurred between him and me. I don\'t think he will. ￡30 a year ought to be enough for the hire of a piano. So here we are established, at ￡10 a month—the first-floor, with father\'s bedroom behind the sitting-room. I have the room upstairs over the sitting-room. They are small stumpy little rooms,—"but mine own." Who says—"But mine own?" Somebody does, and I repeat it. They are mine own, at any rate till next Saturday.

    And we have settled this terrible engagement and signed it. I\'m to sing for Moss at "The Embankment" for four months, at the rate of ￡600 a year. It was a Jew\'s bargain, for I really had filled the house for a fortnight. Fancy a theatre called "The Embankment"! There is a nasty muddy rheumatic sound about it; but it\'s very prettily got up, and the exits and entrances are also good. Father goes with me every night, but I mean to let him off the terrible task soon. He smiles, and says he likes it. I only tell him he would be a child if he did. They want to change the piece, but I shall make them pay me for my dresses; I am not going to wear any other woman\'s old clothes. It\'s not the proper way to begin, you have to begin as a slave or as an empress. Of course, anybody prefers to do the empress. They try, and then they fail, and tumble down. I shall tumble down, no doubt; but I may as well have my chance.

    And now I\'m going to make you say that I\'m a beast. And so I am. I make a little use of Mahomet M. M.\'s passion to achieve my throne instead of taking up at once with serfdom. But I do it without vouchsafing him even the first corner of a smile. The harshest treatment is all that he gets. Men such as Mahomet M. will live on harsh treatment for a while, looking forward to revenge when their time comes. But I shall soon have made sure of my throne, or shall have failed; and in either case shall cease to care for Mahomet M. By bullying him and by treating him as dust beneath my feet, I can do something to show how proud I am, and how sure I am of success. He offers me money—not paid money down, which would have certain allurements. I shouldn\'t take it. I needn\'t tell you that. I should like to have plenty of loose sovereigns, so as to hire broughams from the yard, instead of walking, or going in a \'bus about London, which is very upsetting to my pride. Father and I go down to the theatre in a hansom, when we feel ourselves quite smart. But it isn\'t money like that which he offers. He wants to pay me a month in advance, and suggests that I shall get into debt, and come to him to get me out of it. There was some talk of papa going to New York for a few weeks, and he said he would come and look after me in his absence. "Thank you, Mr. Moss," I said, "but I\'m not sure I should want any looking after, only for such as you." Those are the very words I spoke, and I looked him full in the face. "Why, what do you expect from me?" he said. "Insult," I replied, as bold as brass. And then we are playing the two lovers at "The Embankment." Isn\'t it a pretty family history? He said nothing at the moment, but came back in half an hour to make some unnecessary remarks about the part. "Why did you say just now that I insulted you?" he asked. "Because you do," I replied. "Never, never!" he exclaimed, with most grotesque energy. "I have never insulted you." You know, ............