"The writing is mine!--oh, you wicked girl! The writing is an imitation of mine--a feeble and poor imitation. I thought, Hester, that by this time you knew your friend's handwriting. I thought that one in whom I have confided--one whom I have stooped to notice because, I fancied we had a community of soul, would not be so ridiculous and so silly as to mistake this writing for mine. Look again, please, Hester Thornton, and tell me if I am ever so vulgar as to cross my _t's_. You know I _always_ loop them; and do I make a capital B in this fashion? And do I indulge in flourishes? I grant you that the general effect to a casual observer would be something the same, but you, Hester--I thought you knew me better."