I thought it decidedly an impertinence. What a pry! I will not act to such an assembly, if I ever happen to be an actress. What was the title of the play? I could hardly understand half of it. I tried hard to swallow my gape. 30th—Mr. Oscar Ellis came to put the finishing touch to my picture. The execution was subtle sureness. He said that he would offer it to his beloved aunty—Mother Schuyler, of course—begging to let it ornament the wall of my room. My room? It is “my room” for a few days yet. I thought it exceedingly sweet. The wall is duskily red. The effect would be superb. When I announced to him that our leave would take place on the approaching fourth, he started as if he had received a stroke. “So soon?” he said. “Yes,” I said, turning my uneasy face. “We are only beginning to understand each other.” “I am a bird of passage, as you know. I have to fly on my road.” The air grew tragic. Then Oscar said: “What will you do when you tire of flying?” “Sah!” “Well?” “I’ll return to Los Angeles and induce you to marry me with my honourable Oriental oratory. Will that do?” We interchanged our nimble look. We laughed afterward. After he left Schuyler’s, I said to myself that I would not mind positively if he would kiss me. The kiss must be on my brow, however. Lips are too personal. I wrote a note, beseeching him not to forget to kiss me at my farewell. Then I chewed the note. I reviled my folly. 31st—Street walking is a delight. I’ll mirror my face in the glass of the shop windows ambling by. I dropped a handkerchief to-day. A gentle gentleman—man behind me should be young and good looking always—picked it up. His respectful “Pardon me—” made me feel as if I were living in the silver-armoured age of chivalry. Shall I drop something again? I observed a variety of form in raising the skirt. One lifted a bit of the left by her finger-tips. Another pulled up the right edge of her front. Another clinched out the centre of her back, showing a significant fist. A corpulent one stepped, holding up both sides of her front. The miserable underskirt revealed itself in red. Which mode is becoming to me? Jan. 1st, 1900—Is to-day the opening of another century? Happy New Year! I will send a lot of “Shinnen omedeto” to Tokio. Isn’t this a queer New Year? No shimenawa along the façades with flitting gohei! No “gate pine tree”! No sambow for an oblation unto the gods in any room! No rice-bread! No golden toso for the cup! I mingled with a neighbour’s girls for a “rope-jumping.” We played hide-and-seek. I offered ten cents reward to the one who detected me. I abandoned the unprofitable job after emptying out all my change. Miss Olive called on a bicycle. I persuaded her to let me try on her bloomers. She exchanged them for my walking skirt which was four inches shorter. We hurried to the garden. She helped me on the wheel. Such a bad Meriken girl!