_P.M_. I endeavored to talk more with Miss Etty, that the change in my manner might be less observed. It was all natural that I should be as grave as a judge when I addressed myself to so quiet a member of society. She seemed to divine my object, and sustained the dialogue; I never knew her to do it before. It is not diffidence, it seems, that has been the cause of this reserve; I was the more diffident of the two, failing to express my thoughts well, from a hurry and uncertainty of mind which I am not often troubled withal. It was partly astonishment, in truth, that confused me. Little Ugly and I actually exchanging ideas! I shall call her Little Ugly still, however, for I could not make her look at me as she spoke, nor answer my wit by a change of countenance. _Sept. 28th_. Little Handsome cannot be convinced that the flirtation is over,--absolutely at an end. She alternately rails at my capricious solemnity, and pretends to be grieved at it. I can see that nothing but my avoidance of a _tete-a-tete_ is my safety. Should the sentimental tone prevail, and tears come into those beautiful eyes, I am a gone man. At my earnest request, (I have grown humble or _bold_ enough to ask a favor,) Miss Etty has brought, or rather dragged, her work-basket into the parlor. A great basket it is, so great, that I imagine in her own apartment she gets into the middle of it bodily. I sat down to watch the motions of her adroit little digits in darning stockings, and mending homely garments. I imagined, rather than saw, a humorous gleam in her eye, as I did so, and there was certainly a slight contraction of her mouth in length, as if to counteract an inclination of the muscles to move in the opposite direction. Flora fluttered about the room like a bright-hued butterfly, pausing a moment at a window or a bookcase, or resting awhile to play a few capricious notes on the piano, and sometimes coming to view Miss Etty's employment, as if it were a branch of industry she was unacquainted with, and curious about. The maples are turning red already. The setting sun threw a glorious light through their tinted foliage, and the still bosom of the lake reflected it in a softened, changeable hue of mingled crimson and silver. Flora was standing at the door. I somehow found myself there also; but I talked over my shoulder to Aunt Tabitha about potatoes. "I have a fancy for a walk round the pond," said Flora. After a pause, she looked at me, as much as to say, "Don't you see, you monster, it is too late for me to go alone?" "Miss Flora, I will second your wish, if you can drum up a third party," said I, point-blank.