But the
barriers were down. And how we talked that night! And how different
everything seemed! And how nice it was to feel his arm over my shoulder
and his quiet breathing on the nape of my neck as I fell asleep. It
seemed as though Love were fanning me with its softest wings. I'm happy
again. But I've been wondering if it's environment that makes character,
or character that makes environment. Sometimes I think it's one way, and
sometimes I feel it's the other. But I can't be sure of my answer--yet!
It's hard for a spoiled woman to remember that her life has to be merged
into somebody else's life. I've been wondering if marriage isn't like a
two-panel screen, which won't stand up if both its panels are too much
in line. Heaven knows, I want harmony! But a woman likes to feel that
instead of being out of step with her whole regiment of life it's the
regiment that's out of step with her. To-night I unlaced Dinky-Dunk's
shoes, and put on his slippers, and sat on the floor between his knees
with my head against the steady _tick-tock_ of his watch-pocket.
"Dinky-Dunk," I solemnly announced, "that gink called Pope was a poor
guesser. The proper study of man should have been _woman_!"

_Thursday the Seventh_

Everything at Casa Grande has settled back into the usual groove. There
is a great deal to do about the shack. The grimmest bug-bear of domestic
work is dish-washing. A pile of greasy plates is the one thing that gets
on my nerves. And it is a little Waterloo that must be faced three times
every day, of every week, of every month, of every year. And I was never
properly "broke" for domesticity and the dish-pan! Why can't some genius
invent a self-washing fry-pan? My hair is growing so long that I can now
do it up in a sort of half-hearted French roll. It has been quite cold,
with a wonderful fall of snow. The sleighing could not be better.

_Saturday the Ninth_

Dinky-Dunk's Christmas present came to-day, over two weeks late. He had
never mentioned it, and I had not only held my peace, but had given up
all thought of getting a really-truly gift from my lord and master.

They brought it out from Buckhorn, in the bobsleigh, all wrapped up in
old buffalo-robes and blankets and tarpaulins. _It's a baby-grand
piano_, and a beauty, and it came all the way from Winnipeg. But either
the shipping or the knocking about or the extreme cold has put it
terribly out of tune, and it can't be used until the piano-tu