I colapsed in my chair.

Dear Dairy, I only remember saying, “Well, remember, ten o’clock.  And dress up like a Gentleman in hard luck,” and his saying:  “Well, I hope I’m a Gentleman, and the hard luck’s no joke,” and then I went away.

And now, dear Dairy, I am in bed, and every time the telephone rings I have a chill.  And in between times I drink ice-water and sneaze.  How terrable a thing is Love.

Later:  I can hardly write.  Switzerland is a settled thing.  Father is not home tonight and I cannot apeal to him.  Susan Paget said I was drinking to, and mother is having the vibrater used on her spine.  If I felt better I would run away.

January 26th.  How can I write what has happened?  It is so terrable.

Beresford went at ten o’clock to ask for Leila, and did not send in his card for fear father would refuse to see him.  And father thought, from his saying that he had come to ask for somthing, and so on, that it was Adrian, and threw him out.  He ordered him out first, and Beresford refused to go, and they had words, and then there was a fight.  The Reporters got it, and it is in all the papers.  Hannah has just brought one in.  It is headed “Manufacturer assaults Peer.”  Leila is in bed, and the doctor is with her.

Later:  Adrian has disapeared.  The manager has just called up, and with shaking knees I went to the telephone.  Adrian went to the mill a little after ten, and has not been seen since.

It is in vain I protest that he has not eloped with me.  It is almost time now for the Matinee and no Adrian.  What shall I do?

Saturday, 11 P.M.  Dear Dairy, I have the meazles.  I am all broken out, and look horible.  But what is a sickness of the Body compared to the agony of my Mind?  Oh, dear Dairy, to think of what has happened since last I saw your stainless Pages!

What is a sickness to a broken heart?  And to a heart broken while trying to help another who did not deserve to be helped.  But if he decieved me, he has paid for it, and did until he was rescued at ten o’clock tonight.

I have been given a sleeping medacine, and until it takes affect I shall write out the tradgedy of this day, omiting nothing.  The trained nurse is asleep on a cot, and her cap is hanging on the foot of the bed.

I have tried it on, dear Dairy, and it is very becoming.  If they insist on Switzerland I think I shall run away and be a trained nurse.  It is easy work, although sleeping on a cot is not always comfortible.  But at least a trained nurse leads her own Life and is not bully-ed by her Familey.  And more, she does good constantly.

I feel tonight that I should like to do good, and help the sick, and perhaps go to the Front.  I know a lot of college men in the American Ambulence.

I shall never go on the stage, dear Dairy.  I know now its decietfullness and visisitudes.  My heart has bled until it can bleed no more, as a result of a theatricle Adonis.  I am through with the theater forever.