_Thursday_: I have neglected my diary for nearly a fortnight, for I have been too troubled about Mr. Rawlings to concentrate on anything else. He is certainly a most remarkable man. Though obviously suffering he shrinks from any declaration. Often we are alone for hours (I have asked dear Netta to give him the necessary opportunity to unburden himself) and he does nothing but stare at me in a fixed and dreadful way, and remains mute. Of course I know that I am to blame on account of my former indifference--even antagonism--to him. He is afraid of rebuff. I have extended encouragement to him by all the slight means in my power, and Netta has openly handed him my photo, observing that she knew he would like to have it. I have even gone to the length of asking Henry to convey to him that he has nothing to fear; but Henry resolutely refuses to touch on the subject with him. I cannot understand why, when the happiness of two people is at stake.
_Sunday_: I don't know what impelled me to do it. Perhaps it was the remembrance of an article of Netta's I once read entitled, 'Should Women Propose?' where she cited the historic instance of Queen Victoria, in whose case, on account of her rank, it was a necessity. I had begun to realize that William was not likely to bring his courage to the sticking point without a great deal of encouragement. Distasteful as the idea was to me, I did not intend to shrink from what I felt was to be my duty. If he, though languishing for love, was too faint-hearted to propose, I saw that it would be necessary for me to undertake that task.
Last evening, therefore, when he called I received him in the drawing-room and explained that Netta and Henry had gone out to the theatre. He at once made for the door, saying in that case he would not stop, but I intercepted him. Closing the door, I said gently, 'I am going to ask you to keep me company for an hour--if,' I added archly, 'it won't bore you.'
In a confused sort of way he assured me it would not, and he sat down and dropped into the silence that is becoming habitual when we are left alone together.
I knitted and he pulled hard at his cigarette. At last I said: 'Why don't you smoke a pipe, Mr. Rawlings? I know you prefer it.'