That must have been Marian Lindsay 's , and Peter had thought I meant it . And now what a position I was in ! I was conscious of bitter disappointment . I had fallen in love with Dorothy Armstrong 's photograph . As far as external semblance goes it was she whom I loved . I was practically engaged to another woman -- a woman who , in spite of our correspondence , seemed to me now , in the shock of this discovery , a stranger . It was useless to tell myself that it was the mind and soul revealed in those letters that I loved , and that that mind and soul were Marian Lindsay 's . It was useless to remember that Peter had said she was pretty . Exteriorly , she was a stranger to me ; hers was not the face which had risen before me for nearly a year as the face of the woman I loved . Was ever unlucky wretch in such a predicament before ? Well , there was only one thing to do . I must stand by my word . Marian Lindsay was the woman I had asked to marry me , whose answer I must shortly go to receive . If that answer were `` yes '' I must accept the situation and banish all thought of Dorothy Armstrong 's pretty face . Next evening at sunset I went to `` Glenwood , '' the Lindsay place . Doubtless , an eager lover might have gone earlier , but an eager lover I certainly was not . Probably Marian was expecting me and had given orders concerning me , for the maid who came to the door conveyed me to a little room behind the stairs -- a room which , as I felt as soon as I entered it , was a woman 's pet domain . In its books and pictures and flowers it spoke eloquently of dainty femininity . Somehow , it suited the letters . I did not feel quite so much the stranger as I had felt .
Nevertheless , when I heard a light footfall on the XXXXX my heart beat painfully .
Doubtless correspondence disappointment door lover maid position soul stairs wretch