people who like music, and I have many friends who are so devoted to music, at least they say they are.  O, this is such a gay season!  I don’t know why, but people say it is always going to be dull, and yet, it is always so gay.  The men go down to the Pelham Club a great deal more than they ought, and yet they don’t neglect us entirely; and surely we have no reason to complain for a lack of parties.  Just think of it! three crushes in two weeks, seven small affairs, excellent play at the theater all of next week, and I already have three nights engaged, and a chance of two more.  That stupid fellow said something about would I like to go with him some time during the week.  How provokingly vague!  But he never made it more definite and final; just never said another word about it.  I hate men who neglect things.

Now, my hair is all combed out, and it’s not a bad color, either.  I never knew that Belle Mason to have as good a time as she undoubtedly had to-night.  She was actually surrounded the entire evening; four or five men all the time, and I not more than three.  I never did like her; she has such a conceited air; and now she’ll be worse than ever.  But I should not have cared if every other man in the house had stood by her the entire evening, but to think that even Robert Fairfield was with her constantly!  He only bowed AT ME from across the room, and never came near me.  At the Monday-night German he gave me, with a hand-touch and a smile, this red rose, then a bud, and I, foolishly, wore it to-night, although it was faded.  The horrid, withered thing!  Yes, I was actually foolish enough to wear it for his sake, and he all the time by the side of Belle Mason!  It was a brilliant affair to-night—­so every body said; at least a dozen said as much to me, and I heard a great many more saying that same thing to our hostess.  All the people really seemed to have a good time.  But somehow I didn’t enjoy myself much, and there are several reasons why.  I abominate going out with a stupid man; but there was no other to go with, so it was an absolute necessity, because go I must.  He brought a shabby, uncomfortable coupe.  He had sent ugly, dabby flowers; and he hung about me the entire evening with the silent, confident air of the young person who fancies himself engaged to you.  He said nothing; he did nothing—­except bring me a melted ice; but he looked a number of unutterably stupid things.  And I heard more than one woman, in a loud, coarse whisper, say, “I wonder why she came with that stupid stick of a man?” But, of course, they didn’t mean for me to hear it; they would not be so unkind; but, unfortunately for my comfort, I did hear, and every word.  But that was not all.  It’s a hard thing for a woman, in a gay season, to appear each night in a new dress.  Of course you can have one nice, white dress, and change the ribbons—­sometimes pink, sometimes blue, or any color that may happen to strike your fancy—­but sooner or later people will find