having women look at her like that, and doesn't mind. Does she really
like silly boys so much and other women so little, I wonder! There is
generally something rather nasty about a woman who declares she can't
get on with other women and whom other women don't like. Men have an
absurd notion that we can't admire another woman or admit her good
points. It isn't so. We admire a pretty woman just as much as you do.
The only difference is you men think that if a woman has a lovely
face it follows, as the night the day, that she must have a lovely
disposition. We know better that's all.

The poor Candle! I feel so mean and guilty writing about her under her
very eyes, so to speak. She looked at me just now quite kindly. I have
a good mind to tear this up, but after all what does it matter? My
silly little observations won't make any impression on your masculine
mind. Only don't say "Spiteful little cat," because I don't mean to
be, really.

This is much the longest letter I ever wrote. You will have to read a
page at a time and then take a long breath and try again.

Mr. Brand has just come up to ask us why a sculptor dies a horrible
death? Do you know?


_S.S. Scotia, Nov. 6_.

No one unendowed with the temper of an angel and the patience of a Job
should attempt the voyage to India. Mrs. Albert Murray has neither of
these qualifications any more than I have, and for two days she hasn't
deigned to address a remark to G. or me, all because of a lost pair of