After luncheon had a long talk with MARY, who really looked prettier than I've ever seen her. She said, "Now that you have got into what Mamma calls 'the vortex of politics,' I suppose you'll despise all our simple little amusements, and begin to forget everybody except the Billsbury voters." I asked her how she could say such a thing, told her I never could forget the happy hours I'd spent with her at Exhibitions and dances, and so forth, and assured her I loathed the Billsbury voters (which, by the way, I really think I do). I was just beginning to screw myself up to the pitch of asking her _the_ question, in fact, I had taken her hand, and was actually stuttering out something which made her look down at her feet (she's got the smallest and prettiest foot I ever saw), when the footman opened the door and announced POMFRET. Of course POMFRET must have seen something was up. He's a beast, but not a fool. But he chattered away volubly, just as if he were the most delightful and welcome person in the world. I got so angry after ten minutes of it, and my toes and fingers began to have such an almost irresistible longing to be at him, that I thought it best to go. But MARY gave me a look as I went away which simply went right through me, the kindest and most beautiful look any two eyes ever gave to an unhappy man. I shut my eyes constantly and bring the whole scene back, and in imagination I throw POMFRET out of the window, and carry MARY in triumph to the nearest church, while her mother quotes the late Mr. GATTLETON's poetry over us in blessing. And then I open them again and find myself in this hole. Dinner with the CHORKLES on Saturday.