_June 18._--Mr. Joseph has not called _yet_. Very strange! Suspect those horrid Composition Dolls have been setting him against me. Met him by the back-board and scolded him. He seemed confused. By a little management, I got it all out of him. I was right. He _has_ been told about the Skipjack. He has strict principles, and gave me to understand that he would prefer to decline my acquaintance--which was _like his impudence_! This is exciting, though. I intend to overcome these scruples; I mean him to be madly in love with me--then I shall scornfully reject him, which will serve him just _right_! _July._--My tactics have succeeded--_at last_! To-day Joseph called, _ostensibly_ to beg me to go and see the unhappy Ball, who, it seems, is terribly collapsed, reduced to a _mere bowl_, and so exhausted that he cannot hold out much longer. However, in the course of the interview, I soon made him oblivious of the Ball. He fell at my feet. "Beautiful Gloriana," he cried, "with all your many and glaring faults, I love you!" Then I carried out the _rest_ of my programme--it was a painful scene, and I will only record that when he left me, he was completely _un-dolled_! I feel almost sorry for him--he had rather a nice face! [Illustration: "I see _him_ standing, on the very brink of the precipice."] _July 4._--I don't seem able to settle to anything. After all, I think I will go and see the poor Ball. It would comfort him, and I might see _him_ there. I will order the pony-carriage. * * * * * _August._--What has happened to me? Where have I been all this time? Let me collect myself, and see how much I remember. My last clear recollection is of being in my carriage on my way to receive the departing Ball's last sigh.... Something has started the clockwork. My ponies are bolting, and I haven't the _slightest_ control over them! We are rushing along the smooth plain of the chest of drawers, and rapidly nearing the edge. I try to scream for help, but all I can utter is, "Papa!" and "Mamma!" All at once I see _him_ standing, calm and collected, on the very brink of the precipice. Is he strong enough to stop the ponies in their mad clockwork career, and save me, _even yet_? _How_ I will love him if he does! An instant of sickening suspense ... we are _over_!--falling down, down, down.... A crash, a whirr of clockwork, a rush of bran to my head--and I know no more. What follows is a dream--a horrible, confused nightmare--of lying among a heap of limp bodies--some armless, some legless, others (ah! the horror of it) _headless_! I grope blindly for my own limbs--they are intact; then I feel the place where I naturally expect to find my head--it is _gone_!... The shock is too much--I faint once more. And that is all.