"Do you blush to look back on it?"

Mother rose and made a sweeping gesture with her right arm.

"I wash my hands of you!" she said. "You are impertanent and indelacate.
At your age I was an inocent child, not troubleing with things that did
not concern me. As for Love, I had never heard of it until I came out."

"Life must have burst on you like an explosion," I observed. "I suppose
you thought that babies----"

"Silense!" mother shreiked. And seeing that she persisted in ignoring
the real things of Life while in my presence, I went out, cluching the
precious paper to my Heart.


JANUARY 15TH. I am alone in my BOUDOIR (which is realy the old
schoolroom, and used now for a sowing room).

My very soul is sick, oh Dairy. How can I face the truth? How write it
out for my eyes to see? But I must. For SOMETHING MUST BE DONE. The play
is failing.

The way I discovered it was this. Yesterday, being short of money, I
sold my amethist pin to Jane, one of the housemaids, for two dollars,
throwing in a lace coller when she seemed doubtful, as I had a special
purpose for useing funds. Had father been at home I could have touched
him, but mother is diferent.