I was—there he was. He was as platonically kind as any man could be. He always made enquiries as to my health, my wishes, my plans. I had but to suggest a thing, and I had his acquiescence almost before I had made the suggestion. And all this time, I was eating my heart out for love of this iceberg.
Women must be contemptible things. If I were a man I suppose I could not give utterance to such an ungallant remark, but no one can find fault with me when my sex is taken into consideration, and I am quite sure I shall find plenty of sisters to agree with me.
The old adage about the woman, the dog and the hickory tree, which nicely explains that the more you beat 'em the better they'll be, seems to me wonderfully true. Why should I care for this man? I was very young, of course, hut I knew perfectly well that this utter neglect was simply outrageous. I remembered my horror at the compliments and pretty speeches with which my partners in the ball-rooms of my friends had overwhelmed me. I had hated them for their silly, tinsel-bound sentiments; their ill expressed
