Such fun as it was to see mother and Juno training Katy, showing her how to enter the parlor, how to arrange her dress, how to carry her hands and feet, and how to sit in a chair—Juno going through with the performance first, and then requiring Katy to imitate her. Had I been Katy I should have rebelled, but she is far too sweet-tempered and anxious to please, while I suspect that fear of my lord Wilford had something to do with it, for when the drill was over, she asked so earnestly if we thought he would be ashamed of her, and there were tears in her great blue eyes as she said it. Hang Wilford! Hang the whole of them; I am not sure I shall not yet espouse her cause myself, or else tell father, who will do it so much better. _Dec. —th._—Another drill, with Juno commanding officer, while the poor little _private_ seemed completely worried out. This time there were open doors, but so absorbed were mother and Juno as not to hear the bell, and just as Juno was saying, “Now imagine me Mrs. Gen. Reynolds, to whom you are being presented,” while Katy was bowing almost to the floor, who should appear but Mark Ray, stumbling square upon that ludicrous rehearsal, and, of course, bringing it to an end. No explanation was made, nor was any needed, for Mark’s face showed that he understood it, and it was as much as he could do to keep from roaring with merriment; I am sure he pitied Katy, for his manner towards her was very affectionate and kind, and when she left the room he complimented her highly, repeating many things he had heard in her praise from those who had seen her both in the street and here at home. Juno’s face was like a thunder-cloud, for she is as much in love with Mark Ray as she was once with Dr. Grant, and is even jealous of his praise of Katy. Glad am I that I never yet saw the man who could make me jealous, or for whom I cared a pin. There’s Bob Reynolds up at West Point. I suppose I do think his epaulettes very becoming to him, but his hair is too light, and he cannot raise whiskers big enough to cast a shadow on the wall, while I know he looks with contempt upon females who write, even though their writings never see the light of day; thinks them strong-minded, self-willed, and all that. He is expected to be present at the party, but I shall not go. I prefer to stay at home and finish that article entitled, “Women of the Present Century,” suggested to my mind by my sister Katy, who stands for the picture I am drawing of a pretty woman, with more heart than brains, contrasting her with such an one as Juno, her opposite.