rather fancy he is theirs for good. Do you wonder that I am in
an exalted mood over all these happenings?

LATER.


Poor bereaved Percy has just been spending the evening with
me, because I am supposed to understand his troubles. Why must I
be supposed to understand everybody's troubles? It's awfully
wearing to be pouring out sympathy from an empty heart. The poor
boy at present is pretty low, but I rather suspect--with Betsy's
aid--that he will pull through. He is just on the edge of
falling in love with Betsy, but he doesn't know it. He's in the
stage now where he's sort of enjoying his troubles. He feels
himself a tragic hero, a man who has suffered deeply. But I
notice that when Betsy is about, he offers cheerful assistance in
whatever work is toward.

Gordon telegraphed today that he is coming tomorrow. I am
dreading the interview, for I know we are going to have an
altercation. He wrote the day after the fire and begged me
to "chuck the asylum" and get married immediately, and now he's
coming to argue it out. I can't make him understand that a job
involving the happiness of one hundred or so children can't be
chucked with such charming insouciance. I tried my best to keep
him away, but, like the rest of his sex, he's stubborn. Oh dear,
I don't know what's ahead of us! I wish I could glance into next
year for a moment.

The doctor is still in his plaster cast, but I hear is doing