y masculine attire. So I have to walk
demurely and assume a virtue, if I have it not, while I pine after the
untested flesh-pots of Egypt in secret.

We have come down to spend a few weeks at Fir Cottage. Our good
landlady is a capacious, kindly-souled creature, and I think she has
rather a liking for me. I have been chattering to her all day, for
there are times when I absolutely must talk to someone or go mad.

July Tenth.

This sort of life is decidedly dull. The program of every day is the
same. I go to the sandshore with Aunt Martha and Mrs. Saxby in the
morning, read to Aunt in the afternoons, and mope around by my
disconsolate self in the evenings. Mrs. Blake has lent me, for shore
use, a very fine spyglass which she owns. She says her "man" brought
it home from "furrin' parts" before he died. While Aunt and Mrs. Saxby
meander up and down the shore, leaving me free to a certain extent, I
amuse myself by examining distant seas and coasts through it, thus
getting a few peeps into a forbidden world. We see few people,
although there is a large summer hotel about a mile up the beach. Our
shore haunts do not seem to be popular with its guests. They prefer
the rocks. This suits Aunt Martha admirably. I may also add that it
doesn't suit her niece--but that is a matter of small importance.

The first morning I noticed a white object on the rocks, about half a
mile away, and turned my glass on it. There--apparently within a
stone's throw of me--was a young man. He was lounging on a rock,
looking dreamily out to sea. There was something about his face that
reminded me of someone I know, but I cannot remember whom.

Every morning he has reappeared on the same spot. He seems to be a
solitary individual, given to prowling by himself. I wonder what Aunt
would say if she knew what I am so earnestly watching through my glass
at times.

July Eleventh.

I shall have to cease looking at the Unknown, I am afraid.

This morning I turned my glass, as usual, on his pet haunt. I nearly
fell over in my astonishment, for he was also looking through a
spyglass straight at me, too, it seemed. How foolish I felt! And yet
my curiosity was so strong that a few minutes afterward I peeped back
again, just to see what he was doing. Then he coolly laid down his
glass, rose, lifted his cap and bowed politely to me--or, at least, in