APRIL 21.-I am too happy to write journals. To think how we love each
other.
Mother behaves beautifully.
APRIL 25.-One does not feel like saying much about it, when one is as
happy as I am. I walk the streets as one treading on air. I fly about
the house as on wings. I kiss everybody I see.
Now that I look at Ernest (for he makes me call him so) with
unprejudiced eyes, I wonder I ever thought him clumsy. And how
ridiculous it was in me to confound his dignity and manliness with
age!
It is very odd, however, that such a cautious, well-balanced man
should have fallen in love with me that day at Sunday-school. And
still stranger that with my headlong, impulsive nature, I
deliberately walked into love with him!
I believe we shall never get through with what we have to say to each
other. I am afraid we are rather selfish to leave mother to herself
every evening.
SEPT. 5.-This has been a delightful summer. To be sure, we had to
take the children to the country for a couple of months, but Ernest's
letters are almost better than Ernest himself. I have written enough
to him to fill a dozen books. We are going back to the city now. In
his last letter Ernest says he has been home, and that his mother is
delighted to hear of his engagement. He says, too, that he went to
see an old lady, one of the friends of. his boyhood, to tell the news
to her.
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