Christmas is over and done with. I had so many lovely gifts, more than ever this year, it seems. I have put them away—the books from Mr. Denton, the little gold watch from Father, even Peter's funny little hand-painted card. And all the others. I can't seem to be grateful for anything. Wonderful roses reached me from the city, Christmas morning. There is no card. But I know who sent them. Why doesn't he write? He would help, a little, I think. But I can't write to him. Not now.
Green Hill
January 1
The new year.
I ran over to see Mrs. Goodrich this morning. She is terribly distressed because Mr. Goodrich's firm is sending him abroad, and he wants her to go with him. They will be travelling too much to take Peter and have decided against it. Of course I asked for him. And she will let me know. Father, when I told him, shook his head. He said nothing, but I knew what he was thinking.
Green Hill
January 2
Father asked me today if I liked Dr. Denton. He asked me so wistfully and so strangely that I couldn't tell him the truth. They are great friends, I know. So I lied.
"Why, yes," I said, "I like him very much."
I felt myself grow red. Father patted my hand.
"He's a good man," he said. "I want you to trust him, Mavis. I have made John Denton your guardian—you know so little about money and the dull things of life," he added, half sighing, half smiling. "You are, after all, only a child."
I tried to change the subject, as I always do, when directly or indirectly Father speaks of leaving me. He seemed happier, when I left him, than I have seen him in many days. I am glad, Diary, that I lied to him about the Enemy.