Letters to Women in Love

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXXIX, Issue 1, 6 July 1907, Page 40

Letters to Women in Love

The Spoiled, the Adored, the Irrepressible American Girl

By

MRS JOHN VAN VORST.

THE few letters which fellow are n.t love-letters, bet :isey treat o' love. Love letters, as a matter of fait. are interesting only for tbe person to whom they are addre=se-I. Bat 7 tiers to people in love s . they act addressed more or less to tie * rid ut large! The very oldest woman I ever knew, a Frenehwomau. ss.il cqcx IQ me: — \ I g . tXK/---’-’ C'S’cJT iigSilß. S. TL-Aiic* hew jOITT C inis-.u bt woriX Tl< iruiSii ii/:-. lv- ii to inner. Bus," >ad here she drew very .1 *. to me, ’Ahere is one thing I regret ’ My eye questjeaed hers. "Wait I. you reg-;:'” And ste ■--■-red in a whisper: -Love.” .. Beatrice Heaver. Fifth Ar-

i Miss bra.:..e Xcs York. V. _.c ’: . are '..: "> . .• mnefa ■_: a .•.••:■ 1 ss< v. X have ieard from you t . - tsmi 3 times in the Jas: few years -:u.r. you left sc-c ::. I . ■-. . : .’• ■ i:-- ■ -■■■- y . n us-r.i : eenX me ::.£i iaraiingtea td- . ; ■_- . ■ . • -■'•■' - - x ~ rls in '• - ■■ - - .. has® ••■ - f ■ rresfondents." Yeu were r»a: -r n-s-j. -. Bat •• ; a knew haw fond - eras <•■■ ■■■ ■ z dear mc-ther. and tuat. ever . y death. I have locked npes you as :. sister in a •■.-.> - can’t ■ ■ .-■ - - . ire twentr-two. For e* you - -•- - a WH In®ffer«nt ••'•>« are ro this beis» ~l'?ckei In anv sase I take tie liberty of ocniyseH a:<-at yoa. quite as taix's sei hai turued to n»e fcr procan. inuT-.e iny surprise on fi -•. Er-c;" all Wells > zosg. k»Jig Y'.-i kn • my r :• zines* tor y He is - * feare * lizu- th*** ”-•?« aa*i »hea for ♦ f'leni* . ns stMfrdingrr.‘ - . -er to see his uneie is Wi- .r !"• •■ ~ -* st-’-ztin? off •*« ♦ -< ’ iz<h. er i : -.ne ici tnw a z«--1' "ne I never yeaaefH.ber very rz - .-../I-' ■ i~e talked ahc t-iu I i-: kee' * m-'-•*: reev’L.’e.tios e - - * 5 -th with the pc-wer ♦ a: the --i'? •=? I na» mu zive to & F.?-zz* ’ Twesty-seven I kn-7w.

v-‘ I ha 1 never t’rc-aghr miet aboat v.. v. with him. ani that he w: .. 1 *- iav be sir* to marryv. when all a- . ii* - . sir- this letter a S’at yet. s . i - .- - - ■ . - ■ . - c - v -. • - t I a-.'- «e-i v. a the letter—that wowld r e ; : t* fair t- Reginald—bat I wn<t a fc. sabje-t E,_riwi f Wa';s lrve< yon. Of *ctrrse. t H . if. r as rot the eonmooplaee a" . ent aay voting man. wh: is a.tm ve fcr any yoong girl who i» pr--.'y He » attractive and yw» are pretty—bsrt he resLy appreisates yew. H* *ieak» of yon in the meet beantif 11 way—of TOST * rharaeter. the power yea bav fcr’ Wtsgio* out fit* v*-v '■*«• fc*re Uh t man. Ha -.aderataals yet:. It I ho la mrt tcryriwe i that y«n air-14

ttkr*e nothing for aim. Yea have njsei <2-IX3I ni a jrserism :hat y.a could ■»in auyose y.j i wanted tc. He does n<x Snd it as: wishing that he shctCd b-:t a t real :: y: 2. with 2is h im* ■ H - . . .. when his «crk is ler.e. t ? dev». te te artisti . literary an-i intellevttial ptirsiiits. These he nrast ftrsvear s-. x-ng as ?.is ine*?me. fair as it is. hr’s not phi-x-i him iimc-rug ths real cf leisYst. t - s ; •'... that yoa d:n’t f<r iJm. he s.igin a 11221 -r little ways «hat perhaps yoa may. _ He saj - :.. - • < - think there's any -.shr 31211 yea d-s ie«ve. 1 -

.' . * . * _ - av-a-w'. te «me hv‘»*n. Trith v-ar tat xr tx L-tug Island fr ‘ T Fri*iai t • M. tiihy in the . - 7 | - - ‘ - 2". 1 Mx I - ■ ' - But I tamp frezn < ne thhkr so an< : t2e* will'.--?it iiivißg ■•'■■ .1 the de:.ii.s as Reggiegave them- ani as yea are to answer tiem in y. : ir letter te or?. When he hrs: me: yox 'tn ms < -ass Day. he knev» that he omlLi never care for azvSsdy el-e. \>?a had d?sii np t _ . ' '' -• ’ -' <-f his rcomn’a:e. As se«:-n as he saw ven -oeethsr h-- ~a- jeal-tt'. h-?rrii4.y jeata is He ■_ - t ' ' - bad shared his r’-:s '-vith him ::r two rs ? 1 1 be-r. h: hrr x 1“- ahh-ir—-sisee he had sever mentioned yenr name —and was now to ann t-nnee ti-s engagement. The annoißeeiEeak did not corse, and Reggie says tiat at tne becinnhns ven seemed gh*d t»? have him to yen: yen eaeotiraged him. ani he the happiest nsan in the

You let him send yon Severs and becks. He hadn': th- slightest idea yon a n.-rt —. ~ ——~ , i. 2— •'•zesn t ~7-c so n-. » Oe’v ill of a sadden y? i tc ehan3*?. He . :'2lr“ ■tn < v.l: yon as ; - had Yow were - yon ■ ;' - " at *’:e things he said rrs’y. and tc-:k eert-ssly «be thntjs he meant yon ~. zit. He grew eonstrwine ’ aad eoold nos even make trp Ms miad to ask y-ri whether anything had He tried to believe - was Ms imagination. chat yea weald, from one day to the . they.'?? ti.-k again to y-'tr c’.i th h Nt t txt were rew - It disagreaebkr t ? him. On contrary, yea were nerfe-tlv friendlv. and. indeed, when he came down v> the romiry yea went abccit with. h:~r more free.y tnan you ha: It he anahvzed hi- ' c e’ings that ytti -t-tt: i ■ever hive f-r him t-e' of sent : =ent

b- had f'r v x Ari Reginald r't want you as a freer.' I tVh.it shali he d< ’ His dream wh ■ ’ .k* an tr ies vn: babt.- 3 onee reflected the w.-rld the I'rely ecfotrrs reduced t f_- .'.' - lamp -t- t tttt x»- «. it -ddrvE. What shall he 4©r ’ ■ --. answer Mm bat I t -'t want •A'-— ckm't want Reggie to ‘tr'ffer. bat von can’t make h:m happy." Is t st ft! - - - Yiva are r. ' - y amonc th- riase mS-ress of every ritaatsoa ani who »c jH nrther that ethers suffer than to fee! t-w ar- too yooag ter stc»=. Then what is year aV-dtude* Above all. don't be promoted with Reggie frr wr't-lng to me, aad d wt’t be veiel witt st* fcr toteac you at ih

From, here I cm see year desk —not a hit the sort whieh is conducive to letterwriting. There are always psetures and Howers, and copies of magazines, and kodaks. and open boxes of eandy. and paper-eevered novels piled upon it iwith strict injunctions to the heusenaxi “not to touch anything'";. Somewhere underneath all these frivelous and half-sentimental upper strata there is a saver-cornered blotter. .. ma save, inkstand and an elaborate pen (rusty, ne deubt>. Please, dear, do a little hoose-ekeau-ing. Get down as far as the pen-and-ink-stand and let me hear from you. IL

To th* same: I vis delighted with the rapidity of your answer. And the fierce indignation with which you respond—hew indicative it was’ You are young, pretty, charming, cultivated What mere natural than that you should be loved, and fall in love yourself’ Yet the mere indirect suggestion. of such a thing brings an outburst. “Love Reginald! You’ve always been very fend of him, but there’s never been any question of love!” Fortunately your letter doesa t end here. You do make a few e>. ueessiOE-. He has never asked you to marry him, in the is’ place. In the second p ace. you have never told him that you didn't like him. In the third place, he must be rather dull net to understand that ycu couldn't see as much of him as ycu do if he were—er ever could be—more t. you than a friend. ... In ether words what you mean is that y-:u are perfectly willing Reginald Wells should be your devoted slave, you are perfectly willing that he should think of you, be with you, >frea?r about ycu to the exclude n of all else. In return you deign to see as much of him as you can withcut '-■e’.r.g bored. Y?u would ce- indignant if l_e were less attentive to- you. •. r more attentive to seme other girl. To speak frankly, you care for Reggie Just enough v - to want anyone else to nave him! T- : - p-remises charmingly for his future happiness: ... - .• , And reallv I am no better off -nan I was before." I am half-inclined to teleerat h Reggie that he is wasting his time, and that he might better turn his theuahts aside from the stony-hearted Ee-atriee! nr * Tv the same: T s --r —i.wltt -’i-s. vr.;»3 rrY-’l-’’’ VvCT

Last night the maid breugnt ae telegram. “IDon’t write R. until hearing frem me." I spent the evening in agreeable speculation as t>; hew scon I -.teu’d gage-meat. I blessed you i r having to your senses. N*>t at all! This mcming the p«;st triers y. ur letter. E-gg'.e had to '. a -.ay t r s .eri! -■ - 1 ] ' I ■ him before quite mak . yonr mind xs to what you really think. Net that vou spoke to him of la- nfe--i- at< t»-: that would have been dish yah But you couvht while you were with aim—l know tc.u —to analyse your feelings new that you are sure he cares for you. This certainty with regard to his se-jj. ments had two distinct effects up<n you. You were mere self-eocfideat. you were mere indifferent. You had an added sense which as* from the assurance of his love, and this same asiuranee took fr m the chars: cf tempest a pliancy it to 1 hitherto possessed. Am I right! TS=re is notkinr mere alhrrtng in life eathia mtment which f recedes tta

declaratioß of a n*,in. .... I was going to say a man with whom yon are failing in love. How you would have resented that if I had said it! As soon as a man has actually an-EO'-tnced his ud. r-itßn then conscience is cailr.d into play and you must take s decision. But during the interim you live in the atmosphere cf irresp-:-nsibility. Yea disregard ill nventional codes cf 1::.7 ; as.l y<; •> as : -:l ppant. as reckxs t.st.. ■. - -. Aicticsal. as you like —net fearful ?f tuejuewes because -< . u AO.. t.’ . :: ■ . ;. I I • ■ f - A know vou are adored. WeU, after as h.ur with him you thought yea could le ’-loppy with him, perhaps, but ycu don’t believe that you

wo-uld be uithappy ’.viiuowt him. Yc-q don't absolutely ■lecLire th-ax you. will never marry hizn. If he really ’ ves you. he raust wait. It w>. nt hurt him to wait. Gr..-'. he s-.-t-ehs ic mink. you axe worth waiting for. ~ - .ni .ike '. the s-ti-ek «f your remark-? : s ths-: you ? s si- ... _ _ - a ■ imagine marrying. a: you can't iuaaguse being engaged. lam not gc-ing write io Reginald at aiL I have nothing to say t-’ him. It is with vc-u that I A -I! eo-minne my e-* rnespcßdenee. To tae s-tnte: Your eifusive epistle in defence ef the girl has rea-.hed me. America, ven sav_. has created a nh-ew variety cf female: the unmarried v.->-man whe is net an old maid. Every other country arres sceietv in su-.h a that ••'ives ; - ’ .'' ----- • a‘ 5 share, in the dlsrrT'i.i-'n sccial right®, h: - : _ at _. i- ■ i .- --3 pre nd cf her ’'.a. p" yc T ing gir’A each vear as she is :f her r< or her harvest of golden wheat. All this is true. I admit. but I dent '-c- in it. as yen i --. ad- - • ' - 1 - :r<. which has its **<- Girl.'* If y ; u roa - - ft -.-■ n . - - - - . . ?> can society, sentimental, dr- c at: etcncm.i<-. ir.telie,’t. is ~r.tt-.n in t.'.e American girlHow e»E they resi~: ?o mtzeh attention’ The truth is th y 1.:.*:. Between thd ages of twenty and £•' : ty-fire they hive ac other ob;e>~ in lit ' htrt to “hsve 3> goal time.” ■-' rages 1 ■ wema as the-nsii the wh- le • m*-y re; :ieej to -.-■■• that it pos - v ’- wir,: f- r ■ '. -At’:- :t IS

as a rewar-.: --. r - gigurat- ere n : < .: - . - -- - - ■ ' ■ 5 lesson - ’ ■c Other rule th.tr. ’ts wn pleasure. —-■-■■ • ..- - .-i-. racy is W.- - ■ . - ■ . • ■ - 1 - - '.--TeS . - - Mi - - ' . ’ ’ r queerer they aright better be I this privileged group have the same nonchalant idea a* otter aristc rats resardina their dtrtks tcw ir.l -ee’ety in general. tv.’ - - - * -1 • — — ' : never XU anything tkrt S res ’<«. and cf livins to have a z-»l time, there may b? aertaia Amteomingi in the r-sults cf Hb.h ecoiu- A Wtet are tkese results? When the •‘Gi’-w-a Gi’F has tee# "paid attention” by any quantity cf men. ■rd fee a ■amber cf years, ft grows diScalt fcr her to determine cn any

•f her suitors, doesn’t it t Sb* bas be- £, uh critical —very naturally. AH wu t<rs seem to her more ex less alike; they Lave the same gevd points, the same weaknesses. They don't really understand her amtetismsWhy then should she pick out one more than another when she ean dispose of half a doaen? Why should she infikt upon herself the w . fr icneus s«ie<y of anyone when she can be sum unded by any number? Wav she submit to the annoyame of being bound when she can exercise her eapriees as though they were laws, and enjoy her liberty at the same time? Dr»t you suppose that cur young ABseri an men are disconcerted by suea , _ ■ De n't v.u realise hew disprvecuures. jw* . t .wra*i tfeev are to feel that the girl ther love requires constant amusement, luxury. wealth. diversion in order to be happy? „ , , Perhaps she benefits by aH taese advantagss sinstdv because they are at hand and because her father provides them for her. Perhaps they are not an indispensable part of her happiness. But how ss the poor young man to know this’ In his uncertainty he hesitates to declare his love. He' dreads seeming pre-sun-ptuous if he -■"poses that his devotion alone can make up for so much liberty, so nr.teh gaiety, and the alluring frivolity that any girl would necessarily jaw? to- rt in marrying run. If he aiakes a timid advance the ch-ir<■*■•= Are ’.e will be t*€> . withdraws r . tetter. Ano! ■who knows? Perhaps two people have missed their opportunity for a real, enduring happiness —two people who were worthy c-f -each other. Who might have led useful lives, and who together would have added to the general advancement - of the whole country. v\ iso knows? i_,: ns siit- that I address to a giil who is p.s=tp:-aisg the moment for saving “Yes” simply because she fears to appear ridiculous in the eyes of her frieadc. It is understood that I am tilnkifti of her, not of you, and with her I am quite at ease; so I say: "You don't want to be married before

v-?u are twenty-five?” “Nat before I am twenty-eight!” “And until then?” “F?I see: there’s plenty of time.” “You’ll see what?” “Til see if I find 3 man who suits me well enough to give up my liberty for him.” “And if you don’t find this man who comes up to your ideals ?” “I can still have a good time just as I “And after that?” “I will try to take up something interesting.” “Or somebody?” “Perhaps. I shall do as the rest do, FT! go in for philanthropy.” Ah! This is just what I hoped yea would say. Yea fell into mv trap deligbtfully. You reec-rmre that, at a given moment. you will have had enough of yourself, and that in order net to hate life you will have to take sip some cr-. ■- work, a charity. Whv do you end there’ ". hi not begin there? V.hy occupy yourself with a eharity j V. :I you are already worn out arel | half through existence? Why not give I y< -r s'tenti-te at once to the “neighbour* I wfec "Teves you as you love yourself”? I Why not do this, while you are young I and .* veiy. w:th every right to hope, and | to be happy ? What neighbour do I mean? Regrlal-i of course! On. but I forgot! It wasn’t with you, | it was with tne other girl I was talking!

V. j To the same: I am sorry net to see you before you I eaJ. Net that I would prevent your departure if I could, even though it does mean turning roar back upon poor I Reggie! I -bou’l like to talk over with you ■ your plans and enjoy in advance all tNst are going to see. But you sail in a week! I eoate to New York, you can't « >ae to Baltimore: so we shall have to ccrtir.ue fa this way our intercourse. it is perhaps not the worst of ways. Shall you write to Reggie! Do you want me to write him about you white f m are gene! How long shall you stay? Aa 1 where shall you bel let use hear from you, if only a line, baton you leaves

VL To the same: Your note, =«nt bock by the pilot, has just reached me. So you saw him the night before you sailed and he ' almost p r cp-oeed. How does a sac ’’almost propose, 1 wonder! There are among the friends of every girl I know about a dozen men who have “almost..” I should like some day to questien them and have their views on the subject of this semi-aenieved pro posah But what touches me even mere is something you tell me of yourself: "you “almoM” accepted Reggie. He never looked so attractive to you as he drd that night in his evening dothes —his eves were so dark —he really is much the best-locking man you know, and he seemed to care so terribly about your going awav. So you “u'.mcst a..epted him. I ean't say that my anxiety for Reggie's fate is altogether calmci. No. not that. But I am f'-U.i you are pdng away in this lenient attitude toward my friend. Women are so impressions tie before they really love. It is enaraeteris-.i.; ci us to consider every in dient with the for -whom we are terming ir. a-* taehment, as final. The least litt.: tH"g he does weighs ponder iis.y .or er against him in cur hearts. If it is some small neglect we observe, instantly the protest rises to our lips: ‘ He - nor the sort of man I eould ever marry!” If. ca the contrary, he has surprise! us agreeably we are pleased at our :wn good taste which murmurs icntentedly■ "That's the sort of man I icui 1 care for.” So I am glad. dear, that it was unuer this impression you separated from Reggie. Travelling, for a woman, is. as a _matter of fact, the most dreary ct uratimis if she hsft not some sentimental pre-oeeupation for which to make 3 setting with al: the changing scenes she visits. If she can say to herself: "He nas

been here, he has seen this, or, "Perhaps well come here some day together.” cr "How much more we s.-uld see if he were only here.” then the t-ertetoa'. tuekinz sr.i o:: J t..e ri.r-r--. in an-i out of omnibuses and trains, the visiting of m i—uni churches, lose their preeaie monotony aud become the action in an imaginary romance. It is something in this spirit that I fancy now you will see Europe. You are coming north from Naples through Italy, and then to Paris. Write me only when von reach the French capital. Vntil then you will be t busy sightseeing. But in this traveller's a iivity the heart is wonderfully ar leisure. And who could traverse Italy untouched! I have seen e'deriy graymrsl women grow fiushed ani agitated in listening merely to a gond.iier retai’, some cue of the amorous legends of Venice. The story may have teen -.lent a hundred years, the lovers isai and undergrurnid. but its echoes sound ...cc os-xen - - ears grow young Again and eyes grow luminous as the pi ture rises in such admirable surroundings. There is sometaißg in the very atmosphere of Italy that stirs the longing to be leve l which has no age. In youth we nourish it with her*?: in : - later years we it with memories.. What a pity Reggie could net follow you! Good-by. dear, until Paris. Address me always here. VII.

To the same: I have kept my promise. N t a line have I sent Reggie about y u since you left. You, of course, have written to him “new a&j then.” It w u’d be too much to expect that you sh u d send him really long, good, comforting letters! I can fancy his gratitude for the little foreign post-marked scraps you have deigned to address him. But just the same, haven't you been rial to receive waiting for you. and a cable, wuen you reached Paris. They made yen “awfully homesick.” It aeems as Too ugh you had been away a year and you din t even talk of coming bock yet. Your father fe deep in the old book question, hunting editions, having bindings eopke-1. and so •&. You say there is “notlung esjs,.al

for you to do.” In fact, you seem frankly bored! A woman bored in Paris’ There is only cue thing to account for it. Paris is the best place in the world to be when you're not in love, or when vou're with the person you love —but senarated from him. I confess, it '.s mor-

tek The very resources contribute t< aggravate your ennui. In Americ* everything is arranged ftf the voBSB V plow awe possess New York. Whxt is there we ean’t do, and alone?

London, on the other hand, is all planned for the man. Even the hansom oah is a masculine invention which entirely overlooks skirts. The shop windows abound with leather articles, toilet articles, colonial articles, all for men. But Paris? It is meant for the man and the woman together, and to the exclusion of the rest of the world. For the French. love, sentimental companionship. is not a luxury. Like the red wine they drink it is a necessity for all classes. The French workingman designates his sweetheart as “the one with whom I can talk.” . . . his comrade, some one he needs in his daily life. And what is thus openly expressed by the artisan has become, it would seem, the raison d’etre of Paris. What are the saloons which have made French society famous? They are nothing more than the reunion of men and women who can “talk together.” The woman’s lunch and the “stag” dinner are unknown in France. Even at the professional banquet, which a doctor or a lawyer offers to his colleagues, the women of his family appear, to help him receive his guests. My dear, have we not seen men in France exercise their talents even in the

most womanly realms? What, since time immemorial, have been more especially designated as feminine pursuits than cooking and dressmaking? Yet, in Paris, who are the best cooks? Men, all of them. Who are the best dressmakers? All of them men! Don't think I am straying away from my subject. You are my subject, and I am convinced that the atmosphere of Paris is favourable to my wishes regarding you. Montesquieu said two hundred years ago: “When one has been a woman in Paris, one is never satisfied to be a woman anvwhere else!” Why? Because the women of France are cherished until they are twenty, courted until they are fifty, and reverenced in their declining years. Thus, to be in Paris without someone to protect you, to make love to you or to adore you, is enough to make you long for . . . • even for Reggie. vm. To the same: You can’t imagine how I enjoy even the foreign postmark on your letters. I turn them over and study them sometimes before slipping my paper-knife along the edges of the envelope to take out the transparent sheets of paper, too few. alas, and written over on one side only. Fortunately I can read between the lines, and I know Paris well. As a rule we Americans have the feeling of: “Oh, how wonderful Paris would be if it were not for the French!” But you seem to be an exception to this rule. You are full of enthusiasm over the manner in which French people

“do things.” Even the way the poor women dress their hair is a lesson to the New Englander who has too long looked upon the “crowning glory” as a nest of vipers.

And since you have seen how simply the French girl dresses, how satisfied she is with little before her marriage, and how this marriage appears to her as the only destiny for a woman, have you not come nearer than ever before to regretting that you were Mademoiselle —not Madame?

But this I don’t, for the moment, presage. On the contrary, it would seem as though there were something in the atmosphere of Paris which was separating you, in thought at least, and only temporarily, I hope, from America and American ways, from the informality and sans gene of our people, from us, from me—from Reggis. Am I right?

You are American to the very marrow of your bones. You could not be happy in a country which, however much you might admire its traditions and be attracted by its culture, must for ever remain to you a foreign country, that is strange, alien, different, “ queer.” IX. To the same: I have your short note telling me that Reggie has arrived in Paris! He did not come to see me, nor even write me, before sailing. He was afraid that I would dissuade him from such a definite move. Now it is done I make no comment. I shall wait until hearing

more in detail from you before expressing my opinion one way or the other. Perhaps Reggie has done the wisest thing in the world—perhaps < .»b most foolish. In a courtship the same act may appear glorious or ignoble, depending entirely upon how the woman courted ti kes it. X. To the same: Your second letter has eome, and I see that poor Reggie has made a dreadful mistake! In Italy, after an anonymous sort of fashion, you longed for somebody, for an araoureux, someone to make love to you. someone to complete, with a personal romance, the wonderfully picturesque setting which surrounded you. In Paris you felt first that it was a natural desire, then that it was a conventional necessity to be married. It was this transition from the national to the conventional wherein poor Reggie's chances perished. But have they quite perished? Is it as hopeless for him as you think? All of a sudden you have adopted the Latin idea of a woman submissive to man. a man who is lord and master, and who asks neither advice nor criticism, but appn.vrl only. Which approval, if ais wife, mother, sister, or sweetheart fail to gne, he finds elsewhere. Why this change? Could Reggie be prepared for it? You say that he seems like a girl, he doesn’t know how to order people around, he hesitates about an hour, it seems to you. over the menu when it is handed to him in a restaurant, and finally he gives it to you. as if you could arrange the dinner for his guests!

Small things, all of them, but very irritating. And what you hate, too, is to see Reggie so badly served and so cheated! Not speaking French, he never discusses the price of anything. He simply holds out his hand full of coin, and lets the menials fall upon it. Then, occasionally, there is an awful revulsion, in his Ameri-

can mind, against this grandiose system, and you catch sight of him. when yen have regained the carriage, lingering in some unpleasant dispute. Then Reggie insists upon wearing a straw hat, and there is’nt a self-respect-ing Frenchman of the world who would think of wearing a straw hat in Paris before the Grand Prix has been run. This, too. is only a detail. But, for a woman the great passion which we call love is nothing more than a collection of details —a series of small, trifling things which, appealing to our taste, seducing it, meeting with our sentimental approval, determine the attraction love is. Dear friend, don’t be hard on Reggie.

Don’t let outside influences affect too much the true course of your feelings. Don't let your inclination for Reggie be thus, by some superficial thing, transformed into a positive revulsion. Don’t feel that you are responsible for Reggie just because he cares for you. Be more simple! At your age things decide themselves.

You need take no heart-rending decisions. As a woman grows older and her chances of happiness diminish, there is something irrevocable in whatever she determines to do. It is as though time had put a mortgage upon every act she attempts. While youth is still yours, let there be something lovely in the spontaneity of your choice! Don’t be hampered. Beatrice. by worldly considerations. If you love Reggie ever so little, let him see it. This confidence, if you place it in him. will act as magie upon his powers to please you. No. you say ? You like him better when he is melan-

choly and hopeless than when he is exuberant and reassured? Ah. Beatrice! The truth is, Reggie loves you too well. You are too sure of him. A woman who is loved in this way is always ready to say no until . . . Until what? Until she is no longer loved. Take my word for it. XI. To the same: Indignant, enraged, discouraged, petulant. thus you appear in your last letter. And why? Simply because Reggie has—proposed to you! What a terrible offence indeed! With our highly-cultivated sensibilities. we women cannot understand how any man is able to propose when things are so against him that he is sure to be rejected. So you have refused Reggie? Poor Reginald Wells! And you are not even sorry for him. 7t was his own fault. He chose the most unpropitious moment: when you were alone together up in the towers of Notre Hame. with Paris stretching immense. vague, anonymous before you, and all the past stirring in your veins, and Reggie seeming so pale, so personal, so insignificant bv comparison with what was in vour thoughts.

You wanted to run away from him, and you couldn’t. You wanted to bide under the uplifted wings of the little angel of Notre Dame, and beg her to protect you. Ah. Beatrice! As you turned toward the frail and exquisite little statue, whose delicate wings, immobile through the ages, have typified that unchanging purity toward which man lifts hs eyes as to the supreme ideal, thus Reggie turned to you. His feelings, like yours, were arduous. reverent, seeking protection against the world for what was the best in him. He "froze you.” These are the words you use—expressive, at least. Y'ou felt that you didn't care whether you ever saw him again. After you had said •’No." you came all the way down the winding staircase into the church below without .speaking again. The carriage was waiting for you near the bridge, you got into it. Reggie asked if he might come after dinner to the hotel, and you answered that there would be nobody there: you and your father were dining out. Since then you have not seen him. It is the last sentence of your letter which gives me a glimmer of hope. Y'ou exclaim: ‘‘After what had happened 1 should think Reggie would at least have sent me some flowers or written me a line.” If you were “sorry for him.” if you felt “like a sister” to him. 1 should lie more anxious. Your charming egoism on this occasion shows, as a matter of fact, how absorbed you are in the affair. Well. w ell. dear, be sine. re. this is all I ask of you. Most sentimental failures are due to a lack of genuineness. Be true to yourself and you will l>e true to

Reggie. It is never too late to mend, and no one incident is final in love or in life. To the same: Y’ou seem perfectly amazed that Reg

gie should not have written to you since, landing in America. Why should he write to you? This question hasn’t presented itself to your mind. A woman can never understand why

any man who has ever loved her should not continue to do so until the end of his days. I don’t mean by this that Reggie has stopped loving you. Alas, no, quite the contrary. You beg me for

news of him, so I give it to you, outspoken. Reggie looks wretchedly ill. He is working night and day against the orders of the doctor, who says that he should go to the seashore and “loaf” for a month at least.

He had not been a week in New York before he came over to pay me a flying visit, between trains, under pretext of being “rushed” with business. Of course, the first thing he spoke about was you.

I shall not repeat the things he said. You do not deserve to hear them. The only thing left to say was: “Don’t t ike it so to heart. ’ I fancy he founa this little enough consolation. “To heart? Why, it’s my very fibre,”

he retorted. “You don't suppose it's a passing fancy, do you, any light matter? For two years she's been all I’ve thought about. Everything else was a side issue. To heart?” he repeated. “What do Jou mean?”

I attempted to explain, but he interrupted me. “Oh, I'm not going to kill myself, if that’s what you call taking it seriously. My mind is steady. I’m not a complete coward.” •‘Why. Reggie.” I said, “the happiest

marriages 1 know are those where the woman began by refusing the man, and ended by proposing to him herself!” Reggie smiled, and I saw’ in this relaxation of his features how wan his expression had become. “No,” he said, “she knows what she wants, and the best thing for me is to

keep out of her way. I can’t let my misery seem like a reproach to anyone.” We didn’t speak of you again after this last remark of Reggie's. I felt too uncertain of you to proffer any encouragement. I felt, Beatrice, that you were a victim almost as much as he, and far different. His suffering came from you, and yours came from the flippant education which had led you to consider everything in life from the standpoint—not of what it was worth—but of whether von wanted it or not. This

is fatal to happiness. When it seemed that you could no longer have Reggie, his true value first occurred to you. You had to miss him. to want him, and think you had lost him before his real merit became apparent to you. Is it too late? That remains to be seen. All de-

pends on your own way of acting. Men best know what they want; women know lest how to describe their wants. Pride alone etn now interfere with your future joy. NHL To the same: Reggie has told me the goods news of your letter to him. You are on the ocean now. You were right to persuade Mr. Thayer to bring you back. I can fancy your feelings. Reggie seems distressed in the midst of his gladness to hear from yon. He doubts still whar reason brings you homeward so unexpectedly. He fears tha't you may long simply, as a child, to play again with fire! I send this to your New York address. Your ship ought to get in to-day. Let me hear from you as soon as possible after arriving. Is it to be, or not to be ? P.S. Reggie’s telegram has this moment arrived. Heartiest congratulations to you both. Don’t

make a too long engagement! lam sure your father must be in a hurry to have such a son-in-law as Reginahi Wells. Write soon, and remember that 1 love you both as mtu-h in your foolish happiness as 1 did in vour foolish miserv!