of things very different from these. Until that night she did not
know. But that night she knew.

I cannot tell you the woman's name, nor where she lived, nor any of
those things that are commonly told about women in stories. But, as my
story is not that kind of a story, it will not matter that I cannot
tell. What really matters to my story is this: the woman, that night,
when, for the first time, she knew herself to be a woman, began her
woman life in dreams. Because the dreams of life are of the greatest
importance--because Dreams are of the Thirteen Truly Great Things of
Life--this is my story: that the woman life of this woman, when first
she knew herself to be a woman, began in dreams.

It was the time of the first roses. For a week or more she had been
very busy with a loving, tender, joyous, occupation that left her no
time to think of herself. Her dearest friend--her girlhood's most
intimate companion, and, save for herself, the last of their little
circle--was to be married and she was to be bridesmaid.

They had been glad days--those days of preparation--for she rejoiced
greatly in the happiness of her friend and had shared, as fully as it
was possible for another to share, the sweet sacredness, the holy
mysteriousness, and the proud triumph of it all. But with the gladness
of those days, there had come into her heart a strange quietness like
the quietness of an empty room that is furnished and ready but without
a tenant.

At the wedding that evening she had been all that a bridesmaid should
be, even to the last white ribbon and the last handful of rice, for
she would that no shadow of a cloud should come over the happiness of