something unpleasant. I have
not spoken to Mr Crossland, but I do not like the look of him; and Mrs
Crossland is a stranger, and I am tired of strangers. They so seldom
seem to turn out pleasant people.

Just as I had written that, as if to complete my vexation, my Aunt
Dorothea looked in and told me to put on my cherry satin this evening,
for Sir Anthony and my Lady Parmenter were expected. If there be a
creature I particularly wish not to see, he is sure to come! I wish I
knew why things are always going wrong in this world! There are two or
three people that I would give a good deal for, and I am quite sure they
will not be here; and I should think Cecilia dear at three-farthings,
with Sir Anthony thrown in for the penny.

I wish I were making jumballs in the kitchen at Brocklebank, and could
have a good talk with my Aunt Kezia afterwards! Somehow, I never cared
much about it when I could, and now that I cannot, I feel as if I would
give anything for it. Are things always like that? Does nothing in
this world ever happen just as one would like it in every point?

In my cherry-coloured satin, with white shoulder-knots, a blue pompoon
in my hair, and my new hoop (I detest these hoops; they are horrid), I
came down to the withdrawing room, and cast my eye round the chamber.
Grandmamma, in brocaded black silk, sat where she always does, at the
side of the fire, and my Uncle Charles--who for a wonder was at home--
and my Aunt Dorothea were receiving the people as they came in. The
Bracewells were there already, and Hatty, and Mr Crossland, and a
middle-aged lady, who I suppose was his mother, and Miss Newton, and a
few more whose faces and names I know. Sir Anthony and my Lady
Parmenter came in just after I got there.

What has come over Hatty? She does not look like the same girl.
Grandmamma can never talk of her glazed red cheeks now. She is whiter
almost than I am, and so thin! I am quite sure she is either ill, or
unhappy, or both. But I cannot ask her, for somehow we never meet each
other except for a minute. Several times I have thought, and the
thought grows upon me, that somebody does not want Hatty and me to have
a quiet talk with each other. At first I thought it was Hatty who kept
away from me herself, but I am beginning to think now that somebody else
is doing it. I do not trust that young Mr Crossland, not one bit.
Yet, why he should wish to keep us apart, I cannot even imagine. I made