Miss Con doesn't look well. She is very thin; and though she works hard, and has her cheerful manner again, I often fancy it is all put on.
April 1. Thursday.—Cold weather still, but signs of a change. I hardly know how to wish for spring warmth, much as I love summer. For the Romillys are already talking about Beckdale, and I am afraid they will go north early this year. Mrs. Romilly is said to need the change. I am sure Miss Con does. But I can't bear to think of losing Nellie again for months.
Yesterday evening I finished my story, "Selina's Wish." It is 690 pages of MS., each page having, I believe, about 130 or more words. I hope to get it off in three or four days.
April 14. Wednesday.—My little book "Winnie" has come back from the Society, declined.
Of course I do not let anybody see how disappointed I am. I always like to seem quite philosophical; as if it were only what one might expect. But somehow I didn't expect failure this time. I thought it was almost sure to be taken.
It is politely refused; still it is refused. The Editor says that the Readers objected to such a very faulty mother in a book written for children. I dare say I was wrong to make her so: and it is good of him to explain. Uncle Tom says that one learns as much from failure as from success, and that of course it is all for the best. I suppose that is true; but still, I do feel flat.
Mother and all of them are so kind. They don't go on bothering about it, as some people would.
Well, I just have to try afresh. And after all there is "Selina's Wish." That is the really important one. This is quite a small affair.
April 22. Thursday.—I am waiting anxiously for an answer about my "Selina." And I am trying hard to believe that all will be for the best, either way.
However, I don't think the real difficulty lies there. For of course God knows what is best. He knows everything, and He must know that. And I never feel the least doubt that He loves us, and that He will do what is most for our happiness. The real difficulty with me is to be willing that He should choose for me, not I for myself. I do long so terribly to have my own way; and when I want a thing, I want it so desperately,—I don't seem to care to wait for what is best in the end, but only to have my wish now! That must be impatience; and it is wrong to wish for one's own will at any cost; but I am afraid I often do. And then I ought to be thankful if God does not take me at my word, and give me what I wish; because that would be very dreadful.