She's a dear, good old soul. There are mothers who simply bully their daughters, and worry them into marrying at five minutes' notice. Quite a leap in the dark. Mama isn't one of them. Besides, she knows I have made up my mind not to be hurried--and not to decide carelessly. Marriage is not a trifling thing. If a mistake is made it is for life; so it's well to know what one is doing when one takes the plunge. When I get married it will be in all seriousness. I don't intend to tumble head over ears in love with the first newcomer, be he fair or dark, who says to his mother: "I've found the girl of my choice. I love her, and her alone. I'll have her or nobody." Oh, no! I'm not going into that stupidity. I intend to keep my eyes open, and my wits about me. Last spring I declined five very likely wooers simply because none of them offered all the advantages of birth, fortune, and position which I consider I am justified in demanding. I shall follow the same course of action during the winter campaign--the same calm prudence. I am not yet twenty, so I can afford to wait. Since this morning I have felt highly satisfied with myself--_very_ highly satisfied. I have not been in the least affected by mother's open agitation. To-day, as usual, I have glanced through my notes. On my eighteenth birthday I find I wrote the following simple words on the first page of my notebook, which I still keep carefully under lock and key: MY MARRIAGE. "And so five have bitten the dust already." I'm sure there'll be a sixth combatant in the lists to-night. Is he the one who will finally become my very humble and very obedient servant and lord? In any case, he had better get ready to undergo the most rigorous and searching examination. I'm not like mama. I don't lose _my_ head. _Nov. 26th. Four o'clock._ I wasn't mistaken. It _was_ the sixth. But let me be orderly, and write the events, both small and great, in their due sequence. After dinner mama and I went upstairs to dress. I took a long time over it, and was very careful, too. I may as well tell the truth. I worked at my toilet. It took me an hour and a half to dress to my own complete satisfaction. On coming downstairs I found all the doors open, and as I noiselessly approached the drawing-room I heard papa and mama talking. Papa said: "You think it _absolutely_ necessary, then?" "_Absolutely_ necessary. Just think of it. Your presence is indispensable." The temptation was too great. I stopped to listen. Was it not right, or at least justifiable curiosity on my part? "Why indispensable?" replied papa. "I know the young fellow. I've often met him at the club. I've even played whist with him. He doesn't play badly, either. He saw Irene on horseback, and thought she was superb. That settles the whole affair as far as I am concerned. What business is it of mine? It's only your affair--your's and Irene's."