rness, had hysterics in the
schoolroom and fainted among the tea things.

I suppose I shan't be able to decide about the state of my feelings
until I've had more of them on the same subject, or until I've written
down in this book of mine everything exactly as it's happened. I like
doing that; it makes things seem so clear when you try to review them
afterwards.

The excitement began at breakfast by Mother having a letter that she
liked. I knew she liked it by the way her eyes lighted up, as if they
had been lamps and the letter a match. All the other letters, mostly
with horrid, tradesmanny-looking envelopes, which had been making her
quite glowery, she pushed aside.

Mother won't have a crown on her envelopes; she thinks it's vulgar;
besides, putting it only on the paper saves expense. This envelope had
a great sprawly gold crest, but she didn't seem to disapprove of it.
She read on and on, then suddenly glanced up as if she would have said
something quickly, to Victoria; she didn't say it, though, for she
remembered me. I am never taken into family conclaves, because I'm not
out yet. I don't see what difference that makes, especially as I'm not
to be allowed to come out till after Vic's married, because she was
presented four years ago, and isn't even engaged yet; so for all I
can tell I may have to stay in till I'm a hundred, or leak out slowly
when nobody is noticing, as Vic says girls do in the middle classes.
This time I didn't mind, however, for I couldn't see how the letter
concerned me; and as I was dying for a sight of Berengaria's puppies,
which were born last night, I was glad when Mother told me not to
fidget after I'd finished breakfast, but to run down to the kennels if
I liked.

Soon I forgot all about the letter, for the puppies were the dearest
ducks on earth (can puppies be ducks, I wonder?), and besides, it was
such a delicious June morning that I could have danced with joy because
I was alive.

I often feel like that; but there's nobody to tell, except the trees
and the dogs, and my poor pony, who is almost too old and second-childish
now to understand. She was my brother Stanforth's pony first of all,
and Stanforth is twenty-eight; then she was Vic's, and Vic is--but
Mother doesn't like Vic's age to be mentioned any more, though she is
years younger than Stan.

I took a walk in the park and afterwards went through the rose-garden,
to see how the roses were getting on. There were a lot of p