Millie, like many of the Trenchard ladies before her, kept a diary. She had kept it now for three years, and it had not during that time, like the diaries of other young ladies, died many deaths and suffered many resurrections, but had continued with the utmost regularity and discipline. This regularity finds its explanation in the fact that Millie really was interested in other people as well as in herself, was sometimes surprised at her cleverness and in turn suspicious of it—in fact, she knew as much about the world as most girls of eighteen who have been “finished” in Paris: she thought that she knew more than she did, and was perfectly determined to know a great deal more than she thought she knew.
These were some entries:
Dec. 6th. Tried on the new white silk, but it won’t do even now—too tight and makes me skimpy—Refused to let mother come with me this time. Took Aunt Betty instead, and we saw a peach of a hat at Reneé’s which I’d give my eyes for, only of course I haven’t got the money now with Christmas coming and everything. Aunt Betty said it was much better wanting things you can’t have, because then you go on being excited, but that’s of course absurd and just like Aunt Betty.
Bought Aunt Aggie a calendar-blotter thing for Christmas which she won’t like (blue leather with silver corners) but I can’t help it. I’m sick of thinking what to get her, and she won’t be contented whatever it is. Meanwhile, in the afternoon: the sensation of a lifetime—All sitting in the drawing-room, waiting for tea. When in bursts Henry with the wild news that Katie’s engaged herself to Philip Mark. We all turned blue—I’d like to have been someone outside and seen us. No one had really suspected it. I hadn’t myself—although one might have, I suppose, if one had watched more closely. It’s very exciting, and if Katie’s happy I don’t care about anything else. At least I do. It was so lovely coming back from Paris and having her all to oneself. We understand one another so much better than any of the others do. I’m the only one in the family who really knows her. I never thought of her as being married, which was silly, I suppose. It’s funny to think of her liking a man, whom she’s only just seen, better than all of us. It wouldn’t be funny with most people, but Katherine’s so quiet and so steady. It all depends on what he’s like. Finished ‘La Faute de l’abbé Mouret’. Loved it. Downstairs I’m reading ‘Sesame and Lilies’—well-written but awfully silly.
Dec. 9th. Dreary day buying presents with mother at the Stores. Why she will go there I can’t think, and she takes it like a week on the Riviera or a box at the opera. She says nothing about Philip—not a word. He dined last night, and was most tactful. I never saw anyone so determined to make us all devoted to him, but he’s got a difficult business with Aunt Aggie and mother. I like him, and have a kind of idea that I understand him better than any of the others do. He’s certainly not the God that Katherine thinks him—and he knows he isn’t. He’s a little uncomfortable about it, I think. He’s certainly very much in love with her. Letter from Louise Pougé—She’s engaged—to no one very particular. She’s younger than I am—and prettier—lots.
Spoke to Henry about clean handkerchiefs. He’s really incredible at his age. Philip seems to influence him though. That may do something.
Dec. 13th. Dismal day. Out of sorts and cross. Dreadfully restless. I don’t know why. It’s all wrong this Christmas, not being down at Garth and Katherine so occupied. On days like these I have terrible scruples about myself. I suppose I am terribly conceited really—and yet I don’t know. There are plenty of people I admire ever so much more than myself. I suppose it’s seeing Katherine so happy that makes me restless. It must be nice to have anyone as devoted as that to you.... I’ve always been very cynical about being in love, but when one watches it, quite close, with anyone as good as Katherine ... anyway it’s been a beastly day, and Aunt Aggie went on like an old crow at dinner. I wish I knew what mother was feeling about it all—she’s so quiet.
Dec. 17th. Had a long talk with Philip this evening. I must say I liked him—he was so modest about himself. He said that he wished he were a little more as Katherine thinks he is, and that he’s going to try to be. I said that’s all right so long as he made Katherine happy and didn’t take her right away from us all. He said that he would do anything to make mother like him, and did I think that she liked him better now? I said that I was sure that she did—but I’m not sure really. It’s impossible to know what mother thinks. Katherine came in whilst we were talking. Afterwards, I don’t know why, I felt afraid somehow. Katie’s so sure. I know I’d never be sure of anybody, least of all anyone in love with me. But then I know so much more about men than Katie does. And I’m sure Philip knows lots more about women than Katie thinks. Katie and mother are so alike in some ways. They’re both as obstinate as anything. Such a lovely afternoon out with the Swintons—Snow in the Green Park, sparkling all over and the air like after you’ve eaten peppermints. Lady Perrot asked me to go with them to New Year’s supper at the Savoy. Hope I’ll be allowed.
Dec. 23rd. Had a walk with Katie—first walk had alone since her engagement. She was so happy that she was almost—a beastly word—frisky, Katie frisky! We’re miles away from one another just now, and that’s the truth. I suppose one must simply wait until this period’s passed away. But supposing it never passes away? Supposing she disappears altogether—from all of us. At any rate, what can one say? I like Philip, and can honestly say so, but I don’t think him the angel Gabriel. Not that Katie at present cares, in the least, what one thinks—she doesn’t wait to hear. She is making no plans, thinking of no possible future, imagining nothing. She never had any imagination, or at any rate never used it. Perhaps she’ll get some now from Philip, who has plenty—far too much. It’s his trouble, I believe that he’s always imagining something a little better than he’s got.... We Trenchards have none. I haven’t any really—it’s only curiosity. Henry and I might have some if we were all very uncomfortable. But of course the whole family only keeps together because it can’t imagine things being different. Are things going to be different now?... Rachel Seddon came to tea. Don’t like her. Thinks she owns Katie—and Katie’s let her. Went with the Aunts to the Messiah. Very long, with nice bits. Aunt Aggie had a crick in the neck, and wriggled all the time. Hope I get some money on Christmas Day or I shall be in an awful hole.
Dec. 26th. Two pounds from father, one from grandfather, ten shillings Cousin Alice, five Aunt Grace, kettle-holder Aunt Aggie, two dozen handkerchiefs Uncle Bob, fountain-pen father, new hat mother (quite hopeless), photo-gravure ‘Happy Warrior’ Aunt Betty, two books ‘Reuben Hallard’ by Westcott (Mudie second-hand) ‘Rossetti’s Poems’ from Henry—lovely amethyst brooch Katie (darling!) two novels by Turgenieff from Philip—lots of other things.