And clever, to. He said some awfuly clever things.
I beleive that he saw me. He looked in my direction. But
what does it matter? I am small, insignifacant. He probably
thinks me a mere child, although seventeen.
What matters, oh Dairy, is that I am at last in Love. It is
hopeless. Just now, when I had written that word, I buried my
face in my hands. There is no hope. None. I shall never see him
again. He passed out of my life on the 11:45 train. But I love
him. _Mon Dieu_, how I love him!
JANUARY 11TH. We are going home. _We are going home_. WE
ARE GOING HOME. WE ARE GOING HOME!
Mademoiselle has the meazles.
JANUARY 13TH. The Familey managed to restrain its ecstacy
on seeing me today. The house is full of people, as they are
having a Dinner-Dance tonight. Sis had moved into my room, to
let one of the visitors have hers, and she acted in a very
unfilial manner when she came home and found me in it.
"Well!" she said. "Expelled at last?"
"Not at all," I replied in a lofty manner. "I am here
through no fault of my own. And I'd thank you to have Hannah
take your clothes off my bed.
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