"You will come out when you reach a proper age," she said, "if your impertinence does not kill me off before my time." Dear Diary, I am fond of my mother, and I felt repentant and stricken. So I became more agreeable, although feeling all the time that she does not and never will understand my temperament. I said: "I don't care about society, and you know it, mother. If you'll keep Leila out of this room, which isn't much but is my castle while here, I'll probably go to bed early." "Barbara, sometimes I think you have no affection for your sister." I had agreed to honesty January first, so I replied. "I have, of course, mother. But I am fonder of her while at school than at home. And I should be a better sister if not condemned to her old things, including hats which do not suit my type." Mother moved over majestically to the door and shut it. Then she came and stood over me. "I've come to the conclusion, Barbara," she said, "to appeal to your better nature. Do you wish Leila to be married and happy?" "I've just said, mother----" "Because a very interesting thing is happening," said mother, trying to look playful. "I--a chance any girl would jump at." So here I sit, Dear Diary, while there are sounds of revelry below, and Sis jumps at her chance, which is the Honorable Page Beresford, who is an Englishman visiting here because he has a weak heart and can't fight. 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 orchestra recall that magic night in the theater when Adrian Egleston looked down into my eyes and although ostensibly to an actress, said to my beating heart: "My Darling! My Woman!" 3 A. M. I wonder if I can control 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 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 terrible thought has come to me that I am fickle. Fickle or polygamous--which? Dear Diary, I have not been a good girl. My New Year's Resolutions have gone to airy 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, I grew more and more desolate. I love life, although pessimistic at times. And it seemed hard that I should be there, in exile, while my sister, only 20 months older, was jumping at her chance below.