how it was George Washington had found any difficulty in
dissembling, 'and she's very sensitive about any one getting to know
about it.'

Gladys went after that. Henry and I have both decided that we're not
going to interfere with incompatibles in future. It's too much of a
strain on the nervous system.

CHAPTER XVIII

_Being a further extract from the diary of Miss Marion Warrington_. It
seemed particularly unfortunate that I should be called away so
hurriedly to the bedside of dear Aunt Jane at the very moment of the
blossoming of my first real love episode. Yes, I must admit my
feelings have undergone a change regarding Mr. Rawlings, whom I call my
silent lover.

Evidently he has, all the time, been fated for me. Truly, as the poet
says, there's a Divinity that shapes our ends, rough-hew them how we
will. Divinity, so to speak, has shaped Mr. Rawlings' rough ends and
completely transformed him. After seeing him without his beard and,
above all, realizing what sacrifices he has made for my sake, I cannot
but be touched by such overwhelming devotion.

There is something almost sublime in the way that man has thrown off
the habits of a lifetime for my sake! To think he has even donned
white spats to please me! Netta has been trying for ten years to get
Henry to wear them, but he remains as obdurate about it as ever.

I was relieved when (the malady of Aunt Jane having somewhat abated) I
was able to go back to town after an urgent message from Netta asking
me to return at once. No doubt Mr. Rawlings inspired that message. He
is a timid lover, but unusually full of resource. Though, for example,
he seems afraid to approach me, he actually engaged in a mild
flirtation with Gladys Harringay to awaken my interest in him. His
intention was so obvious that I found it actually amusing. Any one
could see through it. Poor fellow, perhaps he thinks the idea of
evoking love by first arousing jealousy is a new one. He is an infant
in such matters. I intend him to remain so.

_Thursday_: I have neglected my diary for nearly a fortnight, for I
have been too troubled about Mr. Rawlings to concentrate on anything
else. He is certainly a most remarkable man. Though obviously
suffering he shrinks from any declaration. Often we are alone for
hours (I have asked dear Netta to give him the necessary opportunity to
unburden himself) and he does nothing but stare at me in a fixed and
dreadful way, and remain