November 8 + 

The other morning R⁠⸺ said hyperbolically that he hadn’t slept all night for fear that, before he had time to put an arresting hand on my shoulder and say “Don’t,” I might have gone and become “Entangled.”⁠ ⁠… + 

… No, I’m as firm as a rock, my dear. But in imagination the affair was continued as follows⁠— + 

She: “I am fond of you, you know.” + 

He: “I wish you wouldn’t say these things to me⁠—they’re quite embarrassing.” + 

She: “Oh! my dear, I’m not serious, you know⁠—you’re such a vain young man.” + 

He: “Well, it’s equally embarrassing anyway.” + 

She: “Then I am serious.” + 

Tears. + 

I say: “I wish you would take me only for what I am⁠—a blackguard with no good intentions, yet no very evil ones⁠—but still a blackguard, whom you seem to find has engaging manners.” + 

I breathe freely hoping to have escaped this terrible temptation and turn to go. But she, looking up smiling through a curtain of wet eyelashes, asks⁠— + 

“Won’t the blackguard stop a little longer?” In a moment my earth works, redoubts, and bastions fall down, I rush forward impetuously into her arms shouting, “I will, I will, I will as long as for eternity.” + 

(Curtain.) + 

I dramatised this little picture and much more last night before going to sleep when I was in a fever. I should succumb at once to the first really skilful coquette. + 