‘Oh, hush! Robert dear; don’t speak so loud,’ interposed my wife, as she laid her little hand across my mouth. ‘Do remember, her room is the next one to this.’ So the conference was stopped, and I cut into my dressing-room to write my diary. But I never heard such nonsense, and I wouldn’t believe it on the girl’s own oath. Not like men or dinner-parties, forsooth! It is only a young lady’s trick to attract attention by appearing to decline it. We shall never get rid of her at this rate. _N.B._—Her eyes are not black. I was mistaken. They are grey, and not such a very dark grey either, except when she is annoyed. It is only in some lights that they look black. They are fine eyes; but more suited, I should think, to war than love. _June 19th._—In some way or other I have offended my lady, for she will hardly speak to me; and when I proposed to drive her to hear the regimental band play this evening (Janie not being well), rejected my offer with a decision which amounted to scorn. Yet she stayed by Janie’s sofa (so I was told afterwards) during the whole term of my absence, bathing her head with eau de Cologne, and fanning her, and attending to all her wants in the most womanly manner; so I suppose she has some good in her, after all. But so have serpents and tigers, and other beasts of prey. All I know is, that I’m not going to be insulted by a girl in my own house, and I shall let Miss Anstruther feel this by keeping up a distance between us, and treating her with the coldest reserve. Just when I had been forcing myself to show her politeness, in spite of all the repulsion I feel to her society, to have my offer rudely rejected is more than any man can stand. It makes my blood boil to recall the tone in which she told me she was ‘infinitely obliged,’ but thought, on the whole, she would rather ‘remain at home.’ She may remain at home for ever for me now; it will be a long time before I offer to take her out again. _June 21st._—We have been at it now for two days, bowing to each other when we meet, and scarcely exchanging a word except in the most formal manner. Janie sees the change, of course, and is wretched about it. She keeps turning her wistful glances from one to the other, as if to entreat us to make it up and be friends; but when she appeals to me in private, I tell her that it is the fault of her cousin, who is the one to make the first advances towards reconciliation, as I have not the slightest idea in what I have offended; and when she talks in her turn to Lionne, I believe she hears pretty much the same argument. I hope, however, for all our sakes, that this kind of thing won’t go on much longer; for I know that it’s deucedly disagreeable, and that I’ve never felt at home since Miss Anstruther came into the house.