_March 17th._ Had a long walk with Philip this afternoon. Really I do like him most tremendously, partly, I think, because he always treats me as though I’d come out years ago and knew all about everything. He talked all the time about Katherine, which was natural enough, I suppose. He said (what he’d told me in London) that he was frightened by her idea of him, and wished she thought him more as he was. He said he hated a long engagement, that he wished it were over—then he said that he was a poor sort of fellow for anyone so fine as Katherine, and I said that I didn’t think it did to be too humble about oneself and that I always made myself out as grand as I could in my mind. He said that it was Russia made one like that, that after you’d been in Russia a little you doubted everyone and everything, most of all yourself. I said that I thought that rather flabby ... but I do like him. I don’t think Katie ought to insist so much on his liking Garth. She’ll frighten him off it altogether if she does that. _March 19th._ Rachel Seddon arrived. Mother asked her down. She doesn’t generally come at this time, and she’s only just back from abroad, but I think she wants to see how the engagement’s getting on. Of course she doesn’t like Philip—you can see that in a moment—and of course he knows it. But he wants to make her like him. I wish he didn’t care so much whether people like him or no. Henry quite his old self to-night, and we danced (I tried to teach him a cake-walk) in my room, and smashed a lamp of Aunt Aggie’s—I’d quite forgotten her ceiling was my floor. The house is awfully old and shaky—letter from Rose La Touche—Paris does seem funny to think of here.... * * * * * Part of a letter that was never posted—