still. I have earned a rest to-night, so I'll stop writing and go to
bed.

_Nov_. 16. I feel lonely to-night. I am not often lonely: perhaps my
little book will comfort me. Sometimes I have said to myself that my
motto was that of a star: "Einsam bin ich, nicht allein." To-night it
is not so. That Mr. Lawrence who was introduced to me to-night had a
striking face, but there was a sort of masculine manner about him that
I don't fancy. Manliness I like, but he seemed to be so sure that
I was not his equal; and yet he treated me with perfect respect and
courtesy. Some one whispered in my ear, "He is a great society swell."
I have never seen anything of what is called society: I was not born
with a title to admission within its circle, and I have always been
too proud to seek it; yet I confess I have a curiosity to see what it
is like. I suppose I should see the best result that the old way of
looking at women can produce--the pink-cotton system, I call it.
I don't believe that man would ever dream of contradicting me in a
question of fact, or of using his strongest logical weapons against
me in a discussion: he would only play with me mentally. How angry the
very thought makes me! And yet he would defer to my opinion, and
pay me all respect, and listen to everything I said, however silly,
because I am a woman. What a strange, inconsistent mingling of
discordant ideas! A toy and a divinity! His manners were, however,
very agreeable: I suppose he is what is called a man of the world.
Rather a poor thing to be: his manners are dearly bought. He said
something about his cousin Mrs. Fordyce calling on me. Well, if she
does, I shall perhaps have a glimpse at the _beau monde_. I wonder if
all the men in society look as high-bred as he does? He is probably
narrow-minded naturally, but he is one result of our scheme of
civilization, which has its good as well as its bad points. Dear me!