Dearest Diary,
I am not ashamed to remit that someone has asked for my hand. Not, I must recount, in the typical sense, but Mr. Friendly asked that I might hold his hand. And while I smiled at the notion, he grew varying shades of pink and exited the room. Such a demeanor for a determined flirt like himself was quite startling. I certainly did not expect him to recoil the way he did.
Our hands never met, however, and I then took leave to instruct a music lesson. The eldest Mr. Jervey who so often requires my attention when I arrive was quite out of sight on this occasion, however. But he did make an appearance for less than a moment in order that he might discuss his own lessons with his father. During such an appearance, he smirked with embarrassment in my direction.
The former gentleman, I deem to be quite my senior. The latter, my junior. And neither seems to be comforted by my presence but rather embarrassed to have acknowledged it. What can such attitudes mean?
Perhaps tomorrow holds the answer...
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