He has known about it for years, I suppose, just as I have, but I believe men are queer creatures, and he may take a dislike to me. I am not a type that would please every one. My hair is too red, brilliant dark fiery red like a chestnut when it tumbles out of its shell, only burnished like metal. If I had the usual white eyelashes I should be downright ugly, but, thank goodness! by some freak of nature mine are black and thick, and stick out when you look at me sideways, and I often think when I catch sight of myself in the glass that I am really very pretty--all put together--but, as I said before, not a type to please every one. A combination I am that Mrs. Carruthers assured me would cause anxieties. “With that mixture, Evangeline,” she often said, “you would do well to settle yourself in life as soon as possible. Good girls don’t have your colouring.” So you see, as I am branded as bad from the beginning, it does not much matter what I do. My eyes are as green as pale emeralds, and long, and not going down at the corners with the Madonna expression of Cicely Parker, the Vicar’s daughter. I do not know yet what is being good, or being bad, perhaps I shall find out when I am an adventuress, or married to Mr. Carruthers. All I know is that I want to _live_, and feel the blood rushing through my veins. I want to do as I please, and not have to be polite when I am burning with rage. I want to be late in the morning if I happen to fancy sleeping, and I want to sit up at night if I don’t want to go to bed! So, as you can do what you like when you are married, I really hope Mr. Carruthers will take a fancy to me, and then all will be well! I shall stay upstairs until I hear the carriage-wheels, and leave Mr. Barton--the lawyer--to receive him. Then I shall saunter down nonchalantly while they are in the hall. It will be an effective entrance. My trailing black garments, and the great broad stairs--this is a splendid house--and if he has an eye in his head he must see my foot on each step! Even Mrs. Carruthers said I have the best foot she had ever seen. I am getting quite excited. I shall ring for Véronique and begin to dress!... I shall write more presently. _Thursday evening._ IT is evening, and the fire is burning brightly in my sitting-room where I am writing. _My_ sitting-room!--did I say? Mr. Carruthers’ sitting-room I meant--for it is mine no longer, and on Saturday, the day after to-morrow, I shall have to bid good-bye to it forever. For yes--I may as well say it at once--the affair did not walk. Mr. Carruthers quietly, but firmly, refused to obey his aunt’s will, and thus I am left an old maid! I must go back to this afternoon to make it clear, and I must say my ears tingle as I think of it.