Oh, Dear Diary, that I could have died at that moment, and thus, when stretched out a pathetic figure, with tuber roses and other flowers, have compelled their pity. But alas, no. I sneezed again! Mother was wedged in, and I saw that my only hope was flight. I had not had more than between three and four dollars worth of the evening, but I glanced again and Sis was boring holes into me with her eyes. Only Beresford knew nothing, and was trying to hold Sis's hand under her opera cloak. Any fool could tell that. But, as I was about to rise and stand poised, as one may say, for departure, I caught Adrian's eyes, with a gleam in their deep depths. He was, at the moment, toying with the bowl of roses. He took one out, and while the leading lady was talking, he edged his way toward my box. There, standing very close, apparently by accident, he dropped the rose into my lap. Oh Diary! Diary! I picked it up, and holding it close to me, I flew. I am now in bed and rather chilly. Mother banged at the door some time ago, and at last went away, muttering. I am afraid she is going to be pettish. JANUARY 22ND. Father came home this morning, and things are looking up. Mother of course tackled him first thing, and when he came upstairs I expected an awful time. But my father is a real person, so he only sat down on the bed, and said: "Well, chicken, so you're at it again!" I had to smile, although my chin shook. "You'd better turn me out and forget me," I said. "I was born for trouble. My advice to the family is to get out from under. That's all." "Oh, I don't know," he said. "It's pretty convenient to have a family to drop on when the slump comes." He thumped himself on the chest. "A hundred and eighty pounds," he observed, "just intended for little daughters to fall back on when other things fail." "Father," I inquired, putting my hand in his, because I had been bearing my burdens alone, and my strength was failing: "do you believe in Love?" "DO I!" "But I mean, not the ordinary attachment between two married people. I mean Love--the real thing." "I see! Why, of course I do." "Did you ever read Pope, father?" "Pope? Why I--probably, chicken. Why?" "Then you know what he says: 'Curse on all laws but those which Love has made.'" "Look here," he said, suddenly laying a hand on my brow. "I believe you are feverish." "Not feverish, but in trouble," I explained. And so I told him the story, not saying much of my deep passion for Adrian, but merely that I had formed an attachment for him which would persist during life. Although I had never yet exchanged a word with him. Father listened and said it was indeed a sad story, and that he knew my deep nature, and that I would be true to the end. But he refused to give me any money, except enough to pay back Hannah and Carter Brooks, saying: