I suppose Lord Robert’s answer cannot get here till about Saturday. I wonder how he arranged it! It is clever of him. Lady Katherine said this Mr. Campion who was coming is in the same regiment, the 3rd Life Guards. Perhaps when--but there is no use my thinking about it--only somehow I am feeling so much better to-night--gay, and as if I did not mind being very poor--that I was obliged to tease Malcolm a little after dinner. I _would_ play Patience, and never lifted my eyes from the cards! He kept trying to say things to me to get me to go to the piano, but I pretended I did not notice. A palm stands at the corner of a high Chippendale writing bureau, and Jessie happened to have put the Patience table behind that rather, so the rest of them could not see everything that was happening. Malcolm at last sat very near beside me, and wanted to help with the aces--but I can’t bear people being close to me, so I upset the board, and he had to pick up all the cards on the floor. Kirstie, for a wonder, played the piano then--a cake walk--and there was something in it that made me feel I wanted to move--to dance--to undulate--I don’t know what, and my shoulders swayed a little in time to the music. Malcolm breathed quite as if he had a cold, and said right in my ear, in a fat voice, “You know you are a devil--and I----” I stopped him at once--looked up for the first time, absolutely shocked and surprised. “Really, Mr. Montgomerie, I do not know what you mean,” I said. He began to fidget. “Er--I mean--I mean--I awfully wish to kiss you.” “But I do not a bit wish to kiss you!” I said, and I opened my eyes wide at him. He looked like a spiteful bantam, and fortunately at that moment Jessie returned to the Patience, and he could not say any more. Lady Katherine and Mrs. Mackintosh came into my room on the way up to bed. She--Lady Katherine--wanted to show Mary how beautifully they had had it done up, it used to be hers before she married. They looked all round at the dead-daffodil-coloured cretonne and things, and at last I could see their eyes often straying to my night-gown and dressing-gown, laid out on a chair beside the fire. “Oh, Lady Katherine, I am afraid you are wondering at my having pink silk,” I said, apologetically, “as I am in mourning, but I have not had time to get a white dressing-gown yet.” “It is not that, dear,” said Lady Katherine, in a grave duty voice. “I--I--do not think such a night-gown is suitable for a girl.” “Oh! but I am very strong,” I said. “I never catch cold.” Mary Mackintosh held it up, with a face of stern disapproval. Of course it has short sleeves ruffled with Valenciennes, and is fine linen cambric nicely embroidered. Mrs. Carruthers was always very particular about them, and chose them herself at Doucet’s. She said one never could know when places might catch on fire.