I was
just beginning to screw myself up to the pitch of asking her _the_
question, in fact, I had taken her hand, and was actually stuttering
out something which made her look down at her feet (she's got the
smallest and prettiest foot I ever saw), when the footman opened the
door and announced POMFRET. Of course POMFRET must have seen something
was up. He's a beast, but not a fool. But he chattered away volubly,
just as if he were the most delightful and welcome person in the
world. I got so angry after ten minutes of it, and my toes and fingers
began to have such an almost irresistible longing to be at him, that
I thought it best to go. But MARY gave me a look as I went away which
simply went right through me, the kindest and most beautiful look any
two eyes ever gave to an unhappy man. I shut my eyes constantly and
bring the whole scene back, and in imagination I throw POMFRET out of
the window, and carry MARY in triumph to the nearest church, while her
mother quotes the late Mr. GATTLETON's poetry over us in blessing. And
then I open them again and find myself in this hole.
Dinner with the CHORKLES on Saturday.
_May 23_.--Started canvassing yesterday and continued to-day under the
charge of Mr. DIKES, one of the Town Councillors. "Old DICKY DIKES,"
the people here always call him.
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