"They say I ought to take Emmeline for my model—good dear Emmeline Claughton, who gets up at six and lives by clockwork, and does everything, and has time for everybody. Whereas I lie in bed till nearly eight, and have to scramble to be in time, and spend every day unlike the rest, and hate rules, and never have time for anything except fun and story books, skating in winter, and tennis in summer. So I don't seem likely to grow into a second Emmeline."
"Would Edred be pleased, if I did?"
"How stupid of me to write that! What did make me? I have a great mind to scratch out the sentence. Now I can never show my journal to anybody."
"After all, why should I show it? And what is the harm of speaking about Edred?"
"Perhaps the proper thing here is to make a statement about the Claughtons. They live at the Park and are very rich. There is only one daughter, Emmeline, and Emmeline has two brothers, Mervyn and Edred. Mervyn is the heir, and he does nothing particular, but comes and goes, and bothers people. Edred is a curate in London. I like him—oh, much the best of the two, and so I know does Emmie."
"Mr. Claughton is kind, only too pompous, and I am not very fond of Mrs. Claughton. She has such a way of setting everybody to rights. But very likely, she doesn't mean to be disagreeable."
"I'm most awfully excited about—"
* * * * * *
"I had to leave off in a hurry, because the lunch-bell rang. And now it doesn't seem worth while to go back to that half-written sentence, about being awfully excited! For it is all over, and I am so dreadfully disappointed."
"Edred was expected down yesterday for just two nights—all the time he could spare from his work this Christmas. And Emmeline had asked me to go to the skating on their pond this afternoon. I think it was to pass the time before three o'clock that I took to my journal."