such a lovely blue muslin dress, and I am to have it made to
wear at a garden party out at Brighton next week. I never
had a muslin dress before--nothing but ugly prints and dark
woolens. I wish we were rich, like Aunt Margaret. Aunt
Margaret laughed when I said this, and declared she would
give all her wealth for my youth and beauty and
light-heartedness. I am only eighteen and I know I am very
merry but I wonder if I am really pretty. It seems to me
that I am when I look in Aunt Margaret's beautiful mirrors.
They make me look very different from the old cracked one in
my room at home which always twisted my face and turned me
green. But Aunt Margaret spoiled her compliment by telling
me I look exactly as she did at my age. If I thought I'd
ever look as Aunt Margaret does now, I don't know what I'd
do. She is so fat and red.

June 29.

Last week I went to the garden party and I met a young man
called Paul Osborne. He is a young artist from Montreal who
is boarding over at Heppoch. He is the handsomest man I have
ever seen--very tall and slender, with dreamy, dark eyes and
a pale, clever face. I have not been able to keep from
thinking about him ever since, and to-day he came over here
and asked if he could paint me. I felt very much flattered
and so pleased when Aunt Margaret gave him permission. He
says he wants to paint me as "Spring," standing under the
poplars where a fine rain of sunshine falls through. I am to
wear my blue muslin gown and a wreath of flowers on my hair.
He says I have such beautiful hair. He has never seen any of