I wonder if I can go back to the old scenes and feel the same; feel that I am worthy to mingle with the old friends. Yet why should I feel thus? If anyone is wronged it is I. It must be the imaginings of a super-sensitive conscience, or the result of early training which makes me feel unworthy. I wonder what our Rector would say if he could look down into my heart and see; can it be possible that there are others in our set who are as guilty—I must not think it, much less write it. But after all, I do not regret. I have made a sacrifice for a worthy cause. JUNE 30. Back home again and getting ready to go away for the summer. Have seen Robert three times since I returned, and we seem to grow nearer and dearer to each other. JULY 10. Petoskey never seemed one-half so beautiful to me as it does this season. Even the people are nicer. The men are kind and attentive but towering over and above them all, I can see the face of the one man I love. Yes, little diary, I love him now, he has woven himself into my very nature even in this short time. “I could not forget you, dear Robert, if all these men were kings and princes, for you are my prince and my king. Your dear letters are such a comfort to me, and I am so happy in your love, even though I know there is no future.” How I miss him! It is always he who thinks of the little things that go to make up a woman’s life. JULY 31. My sweetheart is coming today. I am counting the hours. Just three hours and twenty minutes and I shall be with him once more. What a perfect day this. Nature seems to reflect my joy. AUGUST 1. We are going for a long drive today, through the fragrant pine woods. We will be alone for the first time since he came. I can feel those dear arms about me, those full, soft lips on mine, even now. AUGUST 14. Robert is going today, and with him goes the brightness. We have had such a glorious two weeks of constant companionship. We will be reunited soon, though, for he is going up into Canada to find a quiet, country home where we can spend the best month of the whole year—beautiful, hazy October. I am supposed to be going to New York. “Oh, what a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive.” SEPTEMBER 3. Florence is here and I have taken her into my confidence, not from choice, but because it seemed necessary. I am sure she loves me just as well as before, but she says it is wrong, all wrong. That I am making the greatest mistake of my life; that no man is worthy of the sacrifice, and that in time, even though he is true now, he will weary of me. Ugh! “She made me to shudder and grow sick at heart.” But I do not believe it. Is he not my “Roumald,” I his “Clarimonde”? How many times he has said, “To know you is to know all women.” And that satiety itself I set on fire. SEPTEMBER 30. At last, at last! I leave on the North-West today for the “Soo,” where Robert joins me, and together we go to Collinwood, on Georgian Bay.