I wonder if men ever melt suddenly into little boys, and try to squirm
and run back to hide their heads in their mothers' skirts. It is an open
secret that starchy, modern women often long to wilt back into droopy
musk roses, that climb over gates and things, but they don't let each
other. When I feel myself getting soluble, I write it out to Jane and I
get a bracing cold wave of a letter in reply. The one this morning was
on the subject of love, or, at least, that is what Jane would have said
it was on. She wrote:


Yes, it is gratifying to know that Mary Elizabeth is so happily engaged
to the young teacher who has been in her work with her. She writes that
she was encouraged by our resolution, at last to be her best self while
in his presence as she had not had the courage to do last year. You see,
Evelina? And also, you are right in your conclusion that there is not
enough abstract love in this world of brotherhood and sisterhood; that
the doctrine of divine love calls us to give more and more of it. We
cannot give too much! But also, considerations for the advancement of
the world call for experiments by the more illumined women along more
definite and concrete lines. How old is this Mr. Hayes, on whom you have
chosen to note the reactions of sisterly affection? Are you sure that he
is not a fit subject for your consideration in the matter of a choice
for a mate?

Remember to be as frank in your expressions of regard for him as he is
in his of regard for you. That is the crux of the whole matter. Be
frank, be courageous! Let a man look freely into your heart, and thus
encouraged he will open his to you. Then you will both have an