Monday, Oct 13, 1902

Dear Diary,

What a torrent of rubbish I've poured on your poor head. You'll forgive me, though, won't you? You know I mean well.

A little while ago Miss Ayers importuned me to recite at the HS concert & I agreed to do so for two reasons only, which I list in order of their importance:

1. It would give me excuse to wear my new sage evening dress and high shoes, and-

2. No one else in school has any subtlety and someone has to stand up for Not Shouting Everything.

In the end it went over well enough. The concert was even a bit better than usual. I don't think the bulk of the audience quite followed my Browning, but it was well enough they didn't, or tongues might wag. I was very pleased (I may say this in private!) how well I looked: the sage drew out the dark of my eyes and gave my hair a gloss and tint it never has around other colours. And the shoes! They are so perfectly shaped as to be almost scandalous. Almost, but not quite. & I will confess here and nowhere else that to feel the envy of the other girls was satisfying. When I put it down plain, it sounds "awful mean," doesn't it? But it's true.

Irene did a wobbly but passionate poem about a shipwreck- chilling and ludicrous at the same time. I was so pleased with her I threw my arms right over her last season's sleeves. May did less well, but I didn't mind and she laughed it off, and we went down to Cavanaugh's together for late-night tea. Irene really is a splendid chum, albeit guarded in her affections—as I am. May of course has no boundaries whatsoever; she is everyone's friend and everyone's enemy equally, and will unburden herself to anyone and betray anyone without a thought. It's a weird way of living, but it's not hard to see the merits of it- for she doesn't live in fear of anything breaking in on her secret self; she hasn't any secrets, or the expectation we Blakes have that our expressions will remain politely neutral, and our glances superficial, and our speech steady and far away. May simply hasn't any skin. That's the best way I can think of expressing it.

We invited the S.H., who was splendid and eerie as Lady Macbeth, but she wouldn't go—she and Miss B.S. and poor star-struck Mary were all wound up in one another like a dowdy little skein. They could just as soon have all come along, but I suspect Miss B.S. looked at the S.H. in a particular way and that was that. I am certain now she dislikes me, though I'll refrain from speculating for now on why that might be. Well, she might be politer about it at least- there's the Blake fetish for social propriety rearing its puckered head! Anyway, we had a splendid time with just the three of us, & laughed and speculated until nearly one AM. Mrs. Halloran naturally pouting in the morning about my late return, but I can't say I let it spoil the magic of the evening.