Ah, dear Dairy, how can I write how I felt when being led to him. The entire scene is engraved on my soul. I, with my very heart in my eyes, in spite of my efforts to seem cool and collected. He, in front of his mirror, drawing in the lines of starvation around his mouth for the next scene, while on his poor feet a valet put the raged shoes of Act II! He rose when I entered, and took me by the hand. "Well!" he said. "At last!" He did not seem to mind the valet, whom he treated like a chair or table. And he held my hand and looked deep into my eyes. Ah, dear Dairy, Men may come and Men may go in my life, but never again will I know such ecstasy as at that moment. "Sit down," he said. "Little Lady of the rose--but it's violets today, isn't it? And so you like the play?" I was by that time somewhat calmer, but glad to sit down, owing to my knees feeling queer. "I think it is magnificent," I said. "I wish there were more like you," he observed. "Just a moment, I have to make a change here. No need to go out. There's a screen for that very purpose." He went behind the screen, and the man handed him a raged shirt over the top of it, while I sat in a chair and dreamed. What I reflected, would the School say if it but knew! I felt no remorse. I was there, and beyond the screen, changing into the garments of penury, was the only member of the other sex I had ever felt I could truly care for. Dear Dairy, I am tired and my head aches. I cannot write it all. He was perfectly respectful, and only his eyes showed his true feelings. The woman who is the adventuress in the play came to the door, but he motioned her away with a wave of the hand. And at last it was over, and he was asking me to come again soon, and if I would care to have one of his pictures. I am very sleepy tonight, but I cannot close this record of a w-o-n-d-e-r-f-u-l d-a-y---- JANUARY 24TH. Cold worse. Not hearing from Carter Brooks I telephoned him just now. He is sore about Beresford and said he would not come to the house. So I have asked him to meet me in the park, and said that there were only two more days, this being Thursday. LATER: I have seen Carter, and he has a fine plan. If only father will do it. He says the theme is that the world owes Adrian a living, and that the way to do is to put that strongly before the people. "Suppose," he said, "that this fellow would go to some big factory, and demand work. Not ask for it. Demand it. He could pretend to be starving and say: 'The world owes me a living, and I intend to have it.'" "But suppose they were sorry for him and gave it to him?" I observed.