July 19
For a walk with R⸺ in the country, calling for tea at his Uncle’s house at ⸻. Played clock golf and made the acquaintance of Miss ⸻, a tall, statuesque lady, with golden hair, as graceful as an antelope and very comely, her two dear little feet clad in white shoes peeping out (as R⸺ said) like two white mice one after the other as she moved across the lawn.
Coming home I said to R⸺ histrionically, “Some golden-haired little boy will some day rest his head upon her bosom, beautiful in line and depth, all unconscious of his luck or of his part in a beautiful picture—would that I were the father to make that group a fait accompli.” R⸺, with meticulous accuracy, always refers to her as “that elegant virgin.”