Almost every one was, and looked, worn out. Here and there the unnatural brightness of eyes or cheeks showed that somebody--usually a young person--had been driven to some sort of stimulant to enable him or her to hold the pace. Quick to laugh; quick to frown and bite the lips in almost uncontrollable anger. Nerves on edge, flesh quivering. Yet, what is one to do? To be "in it" one must go all the time; not to go all the time, not to accept all the principal invitations, is to make enemies right and left. Besides, who that gets into the hysterical state which the Washington season induces can be content to sit quietly at home when on every side there are alluring opportunities to enjoy? No wonder we see less and less of the men of importance. No wonder the "sons of somebodies" and the young men of the embassies and legations and departments, most of them amiable enough, but all just about as near nothing as you would naturally expect, are the best the women can get to their houses. It is foolish; it is frightful. But it is somehow fascinating, and it gives us women the chance to go the same reckless American gait that the men go in their business and professions. I am utterly worn out. I might be asleep at this moment. Yet I'm sitting here alone, too feverish for hope of rest. And I can see lights in Cyrus' apartment and in Senator Burke's sitting-room, and I don't doubt poor "ma" is tossing miserably in a vain attempt to get the sleep that used to come unasked and stay until it was fought off. It is Lent, and the season is supposed to be over. But the rush is still on, and other things which crowd and jam in more than fill up the vacant space left by big, formal parties. It seems to me that there is even as much dancing as there was two weeks ago. The only difference is that it isn't formally arranged for beforehand. I'd like to "shut off steam"--indeed, it seems to me that I must if "ma" Burke is not to be sacrificed. But how can we? People expect us to entertain, and we must go out to their affairs also. The only escape would be to fly, and we can't do that so long as Congress is sitting. February 27. Robert and Nadeshda are both in town, he with us, she at the embassy. They are to be married the twelfth of April. The engagement is to be announced to-morrow. I've never seen any one more demure than Nadeshda, or happier. I suspect she's going to settle down into the most domestic of women. Indeed, I know it--for, as she says, she's afraid of him, obeys him as a dog its master, and the domestic side of her is the only one he'll tolerate. I've always heard that her sort of woman is the tamest, once it's under control. She has will but no continuity. He has a stronger will and his purposes are unalterable. So he'll continue to dominate her. "Ma" Burke asked him, "How did you make out with her folks?" He smiled, then laughed.