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."
She gave me a bitter glanse.
"I never knew it to fail!" she said. "Just as everything is fixed, and
we're recovering from you're being here for the Holadays, you come back
and stir up a lot of trouble. What brought you, anyhow?"
"Meazles."
She snached up her ball gown.
"Very well," she said. "I'll see that you're quarentined, Miss Barbara,
all right.
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