I always think every gentleman whom I meet falls in love with me.
I regarded Mr. Oscar Ellis already as an adorer.
O sentimental Morning Glory!
When I returned to Schuyler’s my mind was completely occupied with an absurd fancy.
I was thinking what I shall do when he proposes to me. Shall I say yes?
For a girl to fall in love with one while she is staying at his aunt’s isn’t romantic a bit, is it?
I don’t care, anyhow, for an artist lover.
It is a worn-out hero in old fiction.
Doesn’t the word “artist” ring like a synonym for poverty?
22nd—Mrs. Ellis invited me to dinner.