She suddenly developed into an excitable person--I declare she
kissed me. "Oh," she burst out, "how clever you are! The very
thing to write about; I'll do it directly."

She really did it directly; without once stopping to consider,
without once waiting to ask my advice. Line after line, I heard
her noisy pen hurrying to the bottom of a first page, and getting
three-parts of the way toward the end of a second page, before
she closed her diary. I reminded her that she had not turned the
key, in the lock which was intended to keep her writing private.

"It's not worth while," she answered. "Anybody who cares to do it
may read what I write. Good-night."

The singular change which I had noticed in her began to
disappear, when she set about her preparations for bed. I noticed
the old easy indolent movements again, and that regular and
deliberate method of brushing her hair, which I can never
contemplate without feeling a stupefying influence that has
helped me to many a delicious night's sleep. She said her prayers
in her favorite corner of the room, and laid her head on the
pillow with the luxurious little sigh which announces that she
is falling asleep. This reappearance of her usual habits was
really a relief to me. Eunice in a state of excitement is Eunice
exhibiting an unnatural spectacle.

The next thing I did was to take the liberty which she had
already sanctioned--I mean the liberty of reading what she had
written. Here it is, copied exactly: