that I must be very attractive; for here is Mr. Thurber in love with me too,—as much in love as an icicle ever is. I wonder that no one at home discovered my fascinations.
Joking aside, I am growing tired of the utterly artificial life which I lead here, and would like to get back among my own people. If I had not been so interested in my own affairs lately, I should have been anxious about Judith. She looks sad and heavy-eyed: it may be the late hours which we keep, and the continual excitement in which we live. I hope that is all.
I left my room this morning to go to the library, where I always find the newspapers. On my way thither I passed through the little salon, where Judith likes to sit by the fire. I was absorbed in my own thoughts, and did not notice that the room was occupied till I was in the middle of the floor. There was George, talking earnestly to my cousin, and she was—crying! I walked on to the other door, after one astonished glance, paying little attention to George's polite bow. But I tried unsuccessfully to interest myself in the paper when I reached the library. What can it mean? I suppose time alone will solve the mystery; but I am puzzled.
