invite you to my country house, to have a lot of "fat" girls to meet you
who will talk slang at you, and one of them shall marry you--one whose
father is a great newspaper man. And your new papa will start you in the
business of making public opinion. You will play with that, too, but,
then, you will be coining money.

No, not here in Chicago, but if you had talked to me at Sorrento as you
write me from your sanctum on the roof, I might have listened and dreamed.
The sea makes me believe and hope. I love it so! That's why I made mamma
take a house near the lake--to be near a little piece of infinity. Yes, if
you had paddled me out of the harbor at Sorrento, some fine night when the
swell was rippling in, like the groaning of a sleepy beast, and the hills
were a-hush on the shore, then we might have gone on to that place you are
so fond of, "the land east of the sun, and west of the moon."



NO. VIII. BIOGRAPHIC AND JUDICIAL.

(_Eastlake replies analytically_.)

But don't marry him until we are clear on all matters. I haven't finished
your case. And don't marry that foreign-looking cavalier you were riding
with to-day in the park. You are too American ever to be at home over
there. You would smash their fragile china, and you wouldn't understand.
England might fit you, though, for England is something like that dark
green, prairie park, with its regular, bushy trees against a Gainsborough
sky. You live deeply in the fierce open air. The English like that.
However, America must not lose you.