It was the first time we parted without arranging a new meeting. I absolutely hated him when he smilingly gave me his hand to say good-bye, letting me go without telling me that I was the silliest and most spoiled girl in the world, and that I deserved to be whipped like a naughty child.
Now I am here alone with my misery. The day to which I had looked forward as to no other has been ruined. What in the world is he thinking of me? A thoughtless, selfish girl, who is offended because she does not find him as well as she expected.
HOW good and how wise he is.
A letter from him has crossed the letter I at once wrote him.
He writes: 'I was not so very well, when you came yesterday, and therefore, my little girl did not get the reception she ought to have had, and that also prevented me from thanking her for all her love during this time and always. I am, as I have told you before, a most disagreeable patient. All the same, I wonder if you can manage it, will you come and see me to-morrow, and please try to be a little indulgent with me, even if I should not quite have got the better of my nerves.'
HE is almost well. For the last few days he has been out of bed, and yesterday he went out for a drive.
