I said I should be delighted. An ache of loneliness was creeping over me. I wanted to put off as long as possible getting back to the hotel. I wanted to distract my thoughts from dwelling upon to-morrow and what I was going to say to Christopher. To-morrow--that seems the end of the world! She has beautiful horses, Lady Merrenden, and the whole turn-out, except she herself, is as smart as can be. She really looks a little frumpish out-of-doors, and perhaps that is why papa went on to Mrs. Carruthers. Goodness and dearness like this do not suit male creatures as well as caprice, it seems. She was so good to me, and talked in the nicest way. I quite forgot I was a homeless wanderer, and arrived at Claridge's about half-past four in almost good spirits. "You won't forget I am to be one of your friends," Lady Merrenden said, as I bid her good-bye. "Indeed I won't," I replied, and she drove off, smiling at me. I do wonder what she will think of my marriage with Christopher. Now it is night. I have had a miserable, lonely dinner in my sitting-room. Veronique has been most gracious and coddling--she feels Mr. Carruthers in the air, I suppose--and so I must go to bed. Oh, why am I not happy, and why don't I think this is a delightful and unusual situation, as I once would have done? I only feel depressed and miserable, and as if I wished Christopher at the bottom of the sea. I have told myself how good-looking he is, and how he attracted me at Branches, but that was before--Yes, I may as well write what I was going to--before Lord Robert arrived. Well, he and Lady Ver are talking together on a nice sofa by now, I suppose, in a big, well-lit drawing-room, and--Oh, I _wish_, I _wish_ I had never made any bargain with her--perhaps, now, in that case--Ah, well---- _Sunday afternoon._ No, I can't bear it. All the morning I have been in a fever, first hot and then cold. What will it be like? Oh, I shall faint when he kisses me. And I know he will be dreadful like that; I have seen it in his eye. He will eat me up. Oh, I am sure I shall hate it. No man has ever kissed me in my life, and I can't judge, but I am sure it is frightful--unless--I feel as if I shall go crazy if I stay here any longer. I can't--I can't stop and wait and face it. I must have some air first. There is a misty fog. I would like to go out and get lost in it, and I _will_, too! Not get lost, perhaps, but go out in it, and alone. I won't have even Veronique. I shall go by myself into the park. It is growing nearly dark, though only three o'clock. I have got an hour. It looks mysterious, and will soothe me, and suit my mood, and then, when I come in again, I shall perhaps be able to bear it bravely, kisses and all. CLARIDGE'S, Sunday evening, _November 27th._