And father is away on business, and I am all alone.

I have been looking for a rash, but no luck.

Ah me, how the strains of the orkestra recall that magic night in the
theater when Adrian Egleston looked down into my eyes and although
ostensably to an actress, said to my beating heart: "My Darling! My
Woman!"


3 A. M. I wonder if I can controll my hands to write.

In mother's room across the hall I can hear furious Voices, and I know
that Leila is begging to have me sent to Switzerland. Let her beg.
Switzerland is not far from England, and in England----

Here I pause to reflect a moment. How is this thing possible? Can I love
to members of the Other Sex? And if such is the Case, how can I go on
with my Life? Better far to end it now, than to perchance marry one, and
find the other still in my heart. The terrable thought has come to me
that I am fickel.

Fickel or polygamus--which?

Dear Dairy, I have not been a good girl. My New Year's Resolutions have
gone to airey nothing.

The way they went was this: I had settled down to a quiet evening,
spent with his beloved picture which I had clipped from a newspaper.
(Adrian's. I had not as yet met the other.) And, as I sat in my chamber,