They are invited every where; and only last season people were turning up their noses and asking, “Who, pray, are the Brookses?” Thanks to a cook from somewhere, and a butler from somewhere else, their entertainments are said to be really delightful, and their dinners perfection itself.  They are not yet quite sure of their position!  They are afraid it will not be permanent!  But they will succeed.  I know they will, because I feel it!  To me there is always something very fascinating about these desperate social strugglers—­especially when they are successful.  Aunt Patsey, too, she says they will succeed, and Aunt Patsey knows!  But she don’t know every thing, for Mrs. John Robert Gilder has fooled her.  But I am not surprised; she would have fooled me, also, if I was not so intimate with Sophia, who tells me every thing—­the only person who ever did; and there is just nothing I would not do for her.  I know Sophia Gilder’s other secret! She is caring a great deal too much for a man who don’t take overmuch interest in her.  But the man don’t even know that she cares any thing for him, and I don’t believe he will ever know—­unless I tell him myself!  Now I call that real tragedy; just as good as any you ever see on the stage, or read about in books.  I would love to tell him; but that is one thing I have never told, and I never will, either!  As they say in novels, it will go down to my grave with me.  I am so anxious about Sophia, I am afraid it may take her there.  But I have my doubts, she is right healthy-looking yet.  Aunt Patsey says that love hurts a powerful lot, but don’t often kill out and out.  Robert Fairfield is the man.  Ma says she never could understand why he don’t pay me devoted attention.  His father was one of her old beaus.  She was engaged to him; Aunt Patsey broke it off—­she was scheming for pa—­she could break off any thing, that ancient female!  Mr. Fairfield is polite to me, and that is about all.  When I was a school-girl I used to dream about him!  In my dreams he was always dressed like a knight, and rode a milk-white steed, waved his hand toward me, and then I always waked up.  It was so provoking.  I never could get any further into the dream.  I know I would like him if I knew him real well.  He is quiet, but not one bit stupid.  He talks little, but oh, he is such an attentive listener!  He don’t come after me, so I can’t run after him.  For I don’t know, and I don’t want to know any thing about catching men—­as if they were wild animals, fish, or something.  Aunt Patsey calls it diplomacy!  Diplomacy?  Fiddle-sticks!  It is down right deception of the very worst kind.  I know that I talk too much, tell a great many things that ought to be left unsaid, but I do not tell lies—­there is no other name for them—­and knowingly, with malice aforethought, make an injury or do a wrong to any body.