By the way, how are you getting on with the love-making parts of your stories?’
“‘You forget—I can’t write stories just now. When I can—well, you know long ago you promised you would teach me how to make love artistically.’
“I said it in a teasing way, just for a joke. But Dean seemed suddenly to become very much in earnest.
“Are you ready for the teaching?’ he said, bending forward.
“For one crazy moment I really thought he was going to kiss me. I drew back—I felt myself flushing—all at once I thought of Teddy. I didn’t know what to say—I picked up Daff—buried my face in his beautiful fur—listened to his inner purring. At that opportune moment Aunt Elizabeth came to the front door and wanted to know if I had my rubbers on. I hadn’t—so I went in—and Dean went home. I watched him from my window, limping down the lane. He seemed very lonely, and all at once I felt terribly sorry for him. When I’m with Dean he’s such good company, and we have such good times that I forget there must be another side to his life. I can fill only such a little corner of it. The rest must be very empty.
| · | · | · | · | · | · | · |
“November 14, 19—
“There is a fresh scandal about Emily of New Moon plus Ilse of Blair Water. I have just had an unpleasant interview with Aunt Ruth and must write it all out to rid my soul of bitterness. Such a tempest in a teapot over nothing! But Ilse and I do have the worst luck.
“I spent last Thursday evening with Ilse studying our English literature together. We did an evening of honest work and I left for home at nine. Ilse came out to the gate with me. It was a soft, dark, gentle, starry night. Ilse’s new boarding-house is the last house on Cardigan Street, and beyond it the road veers over the little creek bridge into the park. We could see the park, dim and luring, in the starlight.
