t time to-day. Mrs. Staveley
said to me: "We are going to have a dinner-party. Shall I ask Philip
Dunboyne?" I said to Mrs. Staveley: "Oh, do!"

She is an old woman; her eyes are dim. At times, she can look
mischievous. She looked at me mischievously now. I wished I had not been
so eager to have Mr. Dunboyne asked to dinner.

A fear has come to me that I may have degraded myself. My spirits are
depressed. This, as papa tells us in his sermons, is a miserable world.
I am sorry I accepted the Staveleys' invitation. I am sorry I went to
see the pictures. When that young man comes to dinner, I shall say I
have got a headache, and shall stop upstairs by myself. I don't think I
like his Christian name. I hate London. I hate everybody.

What I wrote up above, yesterday, is nonsense. I think his Christian
name is perfect. I like London. I love everybody.

He came to dinner to-day. I sat next to him. How beautiful a dress-coat
is, and a white cravat! We talked. He wanted to know what my Christian
name was. I was so pleased when I found he was one of the few people who
like it. His hair curls naturally. In color, it is something between my
hair and Helena's. He wears his beard. How manly! It curls naturally,
like his hair; it smells deliciously of some perfume which is new to me.
He has white hands; his nails look as if he polished them; I should like
to polish my nails if I knew how. Whatever I said, he agreed with me; I
felt satisfied with my own conversation, for the first time in my life.
Helena won't find me a simpleton when I go home. What exquisite things
dinner-parties are!

My sister told me (when we said good-by) to be particular in writing
down my true opinion of the Staveleys. Helena wishes to compare what she
thinks of them with what I think of them.

My opinion of Mr. Staveley is--I don't like him. My opinion of Miss
Staveley is--I can't endure her. As for Master Staveley, my clever
sister will understand that _he_ is beneath notice. But, oh, what a
wonderful woman Mrs. Staveley is! We went out together, after luncheon
today, for a walk in Kensington Gardens. Never have I heard any
conversation to compare with Mrs. Staveley's. Helena shall enjoy it
here, at second hand. I am quite changed in two things. First: I think
more of myself than I ever did before. Second: writing is no longer a
difficulty to me. I could fill a hundred journals, without once stopping
to think.

Mrs. Staveley began nicely; "I suppos