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Saturday, January —.

OM cheerfully remarked, apropos of Prince Tucheff and his disappointment about Judith, that men always get over these things. I dare say Mr. Thurber is no exception to this rule. He came here this morning, told me frankly that he loved me, and asked me if I could return his affection. I knew that it was right to confess the truth to him, so I said that I was very fond of him as a friend, but I did not love him. I offered him my friendship, which seems to be the proper thing to do under such circumstances, but which is very much like giving a child crackers when it cries for plum pudding.

He took my answer quietly, left me abruptly, and I was alone nearly all day, being kept in the house by a cold. At twilight, as I was standing by the double window, watching the row of lights in the Gastinni Dvor, and the half-frozen istvostchiks slapping their hands together and stamping their feet, there was a ring at the door-bell. A servant entered at the same time with lights, but I motioned him away and said, "Nyett," and he left me with only the firelight and the