_Sept. 27th_. Have not stirred from the house. But I have not heard
any voice but Flora's. She has been uncommonly amiable and
fascinating, and I--am I not rather bewitched? I cannot keep my
resolution of not being flirted with. I cannot be wise, and reserved,
and indifferent. Am I trifling? Or am I in earnest? Indeed I don't
know. I only know I am constantly at the side of Little Handsome,
without knowing how I came there. She makes me sing with her, ride
with her, walk with her, at her will, and as if that was not enough
for one day, to test her power over me, to-night she made me dance
with her. And now I feel like a fool as I think of Etty playing a
waltz for us, at Flora's request, and giving me a long, serious look
as I approached the piano to compliment her playing. I could not utter
a word. I answered her gaze with one as sober, and more sad, and came
away to my room, to have some talk with my real self. Now for it.
Says I to Myself, "A truce to your upbraidings, you old scold; tell me
at once how you find yourself affected towards this charming little
Flora."