She’s suffering from an intense and dreadful attack of neurasthenia, and it’s our fault, I think. It’s the very indirect, but profound, after-shock of the business between her and us. She’s the only person to whom we’ve really done harm, but we have harmed her […] She weeps all the time—she wept three times before the dinner, and she weeps at home when she has to read a book or go to the kitchen to eat. At times, she really looked quite mad—bottling things up, anxious, but with moments of repressed tenderness and mute appeals that tore at my heart-strings. It’s important to see a lot of her, and I am going to try because I’m filled with remorse.