)
I am sure I don't know what they will think of me when I get back. It
seems as if; over here, I had learned to come out with everything. I
suppose they will think I am not sincere; but isn't it more sincere to
come out with things than to conceal them? I have become very good
friends with every one in the house--that is (you see, I _am_ sincere),
with _almost_ every one. It is the most interesting circle I ever was
in. There's a girl here, an American, that I don't like so much as the
rest; but that is only because she won't let me. I should like to like
her, ever so much, because she is most lovely and most attractive; but
she doesn't seem to want to know me or to like me. She comes from New
York, and she is remarkably pretty, with beautiful eyes and the most
delicate features; she is also remarkably elegant--in this respect would
bear comparison with any one I have seen over here. But it seems as if
she didn't want to recognise me or associate with me; as if she wanted to
make a difference between us. It is like people they call "haughty" in
books. I have never seen any one like that before--any one that wanted
to make a difference; and at first I was right down interested, she
seemed to me so like a proud young lady in a novel.
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