what makes me uncomfortable. If CECILIA sees the poem in one of the
Magazines, and remembers the incidents which the souvenirs recall,
she will certainly not be pleased with me, whether she fancies that I
wrote the poem, or that I forgot all about the treasures, and traded
their receptacle away. Life is really very complicated.

I met CECILIA at a house in the country. We sat next each other at
dinner. I found her charming. We had the same taste in novels,--she
knew Miss AUSTEN almost off by heart, and, like me, she was very fond
of field sports. I flattered myself that she did not find my company
uncongenial. In the evening there was a little dance: I don't dance,
or at least, it was some time since I had danced, not in fact since
the used to make me take dancing lessons at school. How I hated
it! However, this time I thought it seemed very easy and pleasant,
though the floor was extremely polished and slippery, dangerously
so. CECILIA, of course, was my partner. You know how they describe
waltzing in novels, the ecstasy of it, the wild impassioned delight.
Consult GUY LIVINGSTONE and OUIDA. Well, it was not at all like that.

I do not exactly remember what occurred. We started, there was a buzz.
I think there was a collision. I became extremely dizzy.... When
I recovered my senses, it was _not_ to find the dark grey eyes of
CECILIA bending over me with an expression of anxiety. No, she was not
there. I went to bed: I know there was a great contusion on my elbow.

Next morning, it was winter, everyone was going to skate. Now I could
not skate. At school, when there was a skating holiday, I always
passed it beside the fire, which I had all to myself, roasting apples,
and reading _Ivanhoe_. These were among my happiest hours. However,
I did not tell CECILIA that I could not skate. I pretended (it seemed
safe) to be desperately fond of hunting, and to despise skating.
Besides I had work, literary work, I told CECILIA, an article on Miss
AUSTEN. This pleased her, but nobody accepted the article. In fact, I
was bent on secretly learning to skate. I sent to town for a pair of
"Acmes," for I knew I never could manage all the straps and buckles
of the ordinary modern skate. I knew of a pond where nobody came, and
thither, under cover of night, I smuggled a bed-room chair. They say
that pushing a chair in front of you is a good way to learn. My terror
was extreme; it would be awkward to be caught, at a friend's house,
steali