When I am unhappy, and particularly when I am angry with myself, I must always be doing something--no matter what--but I _must_ be occupied, so I hurried Gertrude, and bustled about, and got myself dressed, and found my own way to one of the drawing-rooms, where I hoped to be at least secure from interruption, and to brood and worry myself for an hour or two in unbroken solitude. I ought to have been safe enough here. As I had wandered through unknown passages and passed uncertain doors, I had heard the click of billiard balls, the sound of many voices, and the harsh laugh of Sir Guy; I knew consequently that the gentlemen were all busy at "pool," or some equally intellectual pastime, and had not yet gone to dress. I was sufficiently conversant with the habits of my own sex to be aware that no lady would willingly tarnish the freshness of her dinner toilette by coming down before the very last minute, and I anticipated therefore no further interruption than a housemaid coming to put the fire to rights, or a groom of the chambers to light fresh candles, functionaries, especially the former, who would be much more incommoded by my presence than I should be by theirs. Good gracious! there was a gentleman down and dressed already; sitting with his back to me, immersed in the thrilling pages of "The Drawing-Room Scrap Book," which he was studying upside-down. I came in very softly, and he never heard me, nor turned his head, but I knew the back of that head pretty well. It was Cousin John. I also took a book, and sat down. "Perhaps," I thought, "he's not going to speak to me at all. Well, what do I care? I've a temper, too, if it comes to that." So I read my book assiduously; it was the "Comic Almanac," but I don't know that it made me feel very much inclined to laugh. The clock ticked loud and disagreeably. I determined not to speak till I was spoken to; but after a time the silence grew irksome, and the ticking of the clock so loud, that I ventured on a slight cough, merely to break it. "Ahem," said I, still intent on the "Comic Almanac." John turned slowly round, made a half rise, as if out of compliment to my presence, and returned to "The Drawing-Room Scrap Book," which, however, he was now reading the right way. This would not do; I resolved to wait a little longer, just a quarter of an hour by the clock, and see whether he would not have the common civility to speak to me. What a long quarter of an hour it was! The hand reached it at last--it passed it--I gave him another five minutes. It was getting painful. I spoke, and the sound of my own voice quite startled me, yet was my remark as harmless and commonplace as well could be. "John," said I, "what time do we dine?" "A quarter before eight, I believe," answered John, quite good-humouredly, and as if nothing had happened to estrange us. "Dear me, Kate, how early you're dressed!"