from him now! He always writes from the Club--the
Pelham, of course. I don't know the people who belong to any other Club.
What a nice thing it must be to go down to the Club at night, or
whenever you like--I wish I was a man. And this is his note:

"Your Platonic friend, Henry Seyhmoor, seems quite devoted here of
late, my dear Miss Mason. I saw you with him last evening at the
theater; your talk charmed him into unusual silence. How entertaining
you must have been!

"Won't you go with me to the opera Friday night; and won't you be as
nice to me then as you were at the musicale--no, not that nice only,
but even nicer still--as nice--as--well--as I should like you to be;
won't you?

"_Robert Fairfield_"

A note of mere nothings. My common sense tells me that much. Yet I find
myself forming words for myself between the written lines, and twice
read that dainty card, with the crest and motto of Pelham. Of course
I'll go with him; for to go with Robert Fairfield any where means a
delightful time to any girl so fortunate. It means a bunch of roses
almost heavenly in their sweet loveliness! It means the two best seats
in the theater! It means the turning of a hundred envious female eyes
from all parts of the crowded house; for our theater is always crowded
on Friday nights, no matter what the play or players may chance to be.
Because it is fashionable to go on Friday nights, and theatergoers in
this town are so fashionable.

I am glad, at least once a year, that I am a Methodist, because we
don't keep Lent. But Kate Meadows is very high-church, and, of course,
she ought to keep it! I wonder if she will? She was not out during the
Langtry engagement; but that was on account of lack of men, not on
account of Lent; because her little brother told my Cousin Mary's little
girl that nobody had asked his sister to go any where for days and days,
and that his papa had to take her whenever she went any where. However,
I suppose she'll go, if she goes at all, with her papa; he often takes
her out. I heard her say that she did just love to go out with her dear
papa, and that it pleased him so much. Poor old man! I saw him nodding
and napping, nearly dead for sleep, the last time he was out with her.
It's a shame to keep him up so! As for myself, I would never go _any
where_ if I had to, for the lack of a man, always be dragging poor
papa out. It must be so very mortifying. But nothing could mortify
that girl