...
Sophie arrived some days ago, pleased to see her so well and seemingly in such good spirits, so good in fact that I agreed to meet her in the "chat" of which they are forever prating. It is not an especially edifying spectacle. I can only suppose she had no notion of what she was suggesting as the reality was something of a shock to her; at one of the more alarming antics she fainted away, poor child, which only served to alarm Jack in turn. Certainly it made no impression on the culprits at all. Nonetheless we might have done well enough, had that been the extent of it.
I was not in the least expecting Diana hard on her heels - still less a Diana in such a state - such an almost frantic state - gibes, accusations malice - a malice and a coarseness quite unlike her. I have known her in rages before, and resentful, and the Dear knows she has always been capable of cruelty; but never before vicious. When she spoke of sodomy she had a marked look of her aunt Williams. I am glad Sophie was not in the room.
I have not spoken to her again - have avoided it, if I am honest. I tell myself that I have nothing to say, and there is truth in that; what, indeed, is there to be said? Appeals to reason, futile if she is still so beside herself, painful if not? I will not ask her for an explanation, nor I think have I need to. What then?
Possibly I would do best to seek advice. I can scarcely consider the matter objectively, let alone usefully. It seems plain from her remarks, her manner, her strange behaviour toward Sophie, that she was not in herself; but whether a passing frenzy or a more permanent disorder...
I cannot tell; I cannot at present consider the question with anything like a clear mind.