January 1.
I, Louise Montgomery, twenty-five years of age, and in full possession of all my faculties, do hereby affirm that I will herein chronicle all the noteworthy happenings of my life for the period of one year.
Little diary, I am surprised that I, having reached the mature age of twenty-five, should become so sentimental as to wish to keep a diary. What has prompted me I cannot say. Time may reveal it.
The old year has just passed into eternity and the New Year has but commenced his reign as I write. Yes, a new year with all its possibilities. I hope at the end of this year I may look back upon it as the one bright year of my life. I have not made a thousand good resolutions, as I have done hitherto, but mean to meet the trials and temptations of each day as bravely as possible.
I am not in love yet, little diary, and I want you to bear witness to this fact. There is a man whom you do not know, and to whom I shall introduce you now, for if I can convert him to my way of thinking by the end of this year, I shall not have lived in vain, and I shall have much to tell you about him as the days go by.
He is married, this man of whom I speak. That in itself would preclude the possibility of my loving him now, or falling in love with him in the future.
He has a lovely wife and one child. He speaks of her often and dwells on her excellent qualities, until I too love her.
He loves her? Maybe he does, but I fear he does not, not to the fullest extent. It must be my work of this year to teach him the error of his way. He has never by word or action intimated that he cares for me, but I am sensible, not conceited, and know he is—well, he likes to tell how happy he is, too well. People who are thoroughly happy give no thought to the opinion of the world, but live only in the sunshine of their beloved’s presence. I think my task will be a delightful one. He is awfully good looking, very tall and well developed, polished and withal so interesting. It was strange how we became interested in one another the very first night of our meeting. That Thanksgiving ball will be a memorable one. How striking he looked in his full dress suit and how perfectly he dances! I wonder what New Year resolutions he has made. I mean to ask him, if he is at the dance tonight. No, I guess I won’t either; men are conceited and he might think I had been giving him rather more thought than mere casual acquaintance would warrant. Perhaps he doesn’t realize his danger. Well, I must retire now to pleasant dreams.