Kenneth’s present is – I’d never have guessed – a darling little Siamese cat, brought all the way from India, and for me. I have decided to call it Bluebell because of its lovely blue eyes – so much like Kenneth’s. How shall I express my gratitude for his thoughtfulness? Bluebell is sitting this very minute upon my lap while I am writing. Dinner is to be served in a few minutes.
Both Kenneth and Angela have disappeared since the beginning of the afternoon. Rather than go to the vicarage and waste my time with Ursula – yes, I can say it in my diary: she is a bore – I have taken the pretext of my needlework and the heat to spend an hour or two in my room playing with Bluebell and writing in my journal.
It occurred to me there might be trouble. I mean, I asked Kenneth this morning just exactly what he had in his pocket. For if it is a mouse, I don’t know what I shall do with Bluebell. But Kenneth laughed and said it was another secret but that I wouldn’t have long to wait to find out all about it. Secrets! how wonderful they are!
Well, maybe after all I shall go over to the vicarage to see Ursula and show her my new pet. Another frenzy of jealousy, I suppose. It’s hard to know what to do.