I have no time for more now; he is waiting for me; how little I thought, a month ago, that I should be ending a letter to you for such a reason! When all is said and done, what a pleasant world it is! Do not think me quite mad.

I know I _sound_ as if I were! "Yours, BARBARA." My hand, and the letter with it, fall together into my lap; my head sinks back on the cushion of my chair; my eyes peruse the ceiling.
"Engaged to Musgrave! engaged to Musgrave! engaged to Musgrave!" The words ring with a dull monotony of repetition through my brain.

Poor Barbara! I think she would be surprised if she were to see my "_face of delight!_".