so I will go to see her again. I wonder
how it is she reminds me of Pamela without being like Pamela at all.
Poor Pam always so sharp in her ways, and I do not think Miss Gower ever
could speak sharply at all. And yet she reminds me of Pam.

_December_ 14.--Went to the theatre again with Lady Throckmorton and Mr.
Oglethorpe. I wonder if the rose-pink satin is not becoming to me? I
thought it was; but before I went up-stairs to dress, Mr. Oglethorpe
said to me, "Don't put on the rose-pink satin, Theodora." I am sorry
that he does not think it is pretty. Wore a thin, white-muslin dress,
and dear, dearest old Pamela's beautiful sapphires. The muslin had a
long train.

_December_ 18.--Mr. Oglethorpe came to-night with a kind of message from
Miss Gower.

From these innocent extracts, persons of an unlimited experience might
draw serious conclusions; but when she made said entries, kneeling
before her toilet-table, each night, our dear Theodora thought nothing
about them at all. She had nothing else in particular to write about at
present, so, in default of finding a better subject, she jotted down
guileless remembrances of Denis Oglethorpe and the length of her trains.

But one memorable evening, on going into the sitting-room, with the pink
and gold volume in her hand, she encountered Sir Dugald, who seemed to
be in an extraordinary frame of mind, and withal nothing loth to meet
her.

"What pretty book have you there, Theodora?" he asked, in his usual
amiably uncivilized manner.

"It is my diary," Theo answered. "Lady Throckmorton gave it to me. I put
things down in it."

"Oh, oh!" was the reply, taking hold of both Sabre's ears, and
chuckling. "Put things down, do you? What sort of things do you put
down, eh, pretty Theodora? Lovers, eh? Literary men, eh?"

Theo grew pink all over--pink as to cheeks, pink as to slim white
throat, even pink as to small ears. She was almost frightened, and her
fright was of a kind such as she had never experienced before. But it
was not Sir Dugald she was afraid of--she was used to him. It was
something new of which she had never thought until this very instant.

"Literary men, eh?" Sir Dugald went on. "Do you put down what their
names are, and what they do, and how they make mistakes, and take the
wrong young lady to see Norma, and Faust and Il Trovatore? Il
Trovatore's a nice opera; Theo and Leonora sounds something like
Theodora. It doesn't sound anything like Priscilla, does i