Bought Aunt Aggie a calendar-blotter thing for Christmas which she won’t like (blue leather with silver corners) but I _can’t_ help it. I’m sick of thinking what to get her, and she won’t be contented whatever it is. Meanwhile, in the afternoon: the sensation of a lifetime—All sitting in the drawing-room, waiting for tea. When in bursts Henry with the wild news that Katie’s engaged herself to Philip Mark. We all turned blue—I’d like to have been someone outside and seen us. No one had really suspected it. _I_ hadn’t myself—although one might have, I suppose, if one had watched more closely. It’s very exciting, and if Katie’s happy I don’t care about anything else. At least I do. It was so lovely coming back from Paris and having her all to oneself. We understand one another so _much better_ than any of the others do. I’m the only one in the family who really knows her. I never thought of her as being married, which was silly, I suppose. It’s funny to think of her liking a man, whom she’s only just seen, better than all of us. It wouldn’t be funny with most people, but Katherine’s so _quiet_ and so _steady_. It all depends on what _he’s_ like. Finished ‘La Faute de l’abbé Mouret’. _Loved_ it. Downstairs I’m reading ‘Sesame and Lilies’—well-written but awfully silly. _Dec. 9th._ Dreary day buying presents with mother at the Stores. _Why_ she will go there I can’t think, and she takes it like a week on the Riviera or a box at the opera. She says nothing about Philip—not a word. He dined last night, and was most tactful. I never saw anyone so determined to make us all devoted to him, but he’s got a difficult business with Aunt Aggie and mother. I _like_ him, and have a kind of idea that I understand him better than any of the others do. He’s certainly not the God that Katherine thinks him—and he knows he isn’t. He’s a little uncomfortable about it, I think. He’s certainly very much in love with her. Letter from Louise Pougé—She’s engaged—to no one very particular. She’s younger than I am—_and_ prettier—lots. Spoke to Henry about clean handkerchiefs. He’s really incredible at his age. Philip seems to influence him though. That may do something. _Dec. 13th._ Dismal day. Out of sorts and cross. Dreadfully restless. I don’t know why. It’s all wrong this Christmas, not being down at Garth and Katherine so occupied. On days like these I have terrible scruples about myself. I suppose I _am_ terribly conceited really—and yet I don’t know. There are plenty of people I admire ever so much more than myself. I suppose it’s seeing Katherine so happy that makes me restless. It must be nice to have anyone as devoted as that to you.... I’ve always been very cynical about being in love, but when one watches it, quite close, with anyone as good as Katherine ... anyway it’s been a beastly day, and Aunt Aggie went on like an old crow at dinner. I wish I knew what mother was feeling about it all—she’s so quiet.