was playing in a stock company at home. Only they were not playing Xmas
week, as business, he says, is rotten then. When he saw me writing the
letter he felt that it was all a bluff, especialy as he had seen me
sending myself the violets at the florists.

So he got Mr. Grosvenor, the blonde one, to pretend he was Harold
Valentine. Only things slipped up. I quote from Carter's letter:

"He's a bully chap, Bab, and he went into it for a lark, roses and poems
and all. But when he saw that you took it rather hard, he felt it wasn't
square. He went to your father to explain and apologized, but your
father seemed to think you needed a lesson. He's a pretty good Sport,
your father. And he said to let it go on for a day or two. A little
worry wouldn't hurt you."

However, I do not call it being a good sport to see one's daughter
perfectly wreched and do nothing to help. And more than that, to
willfully permit one's child to suffer, and enjoy it.

But it was father, after all, who got the Jolt, I think, when he saw me
get out of the taxicab.

Therefore I will not explain, for a time. A little worry will not hurt
him either.

I will not send him his copy for a week.

Perhaps, after all, I will give him somthing to worry about eventually.
For I have recieved a box of roses, with no card, but a pen and ink
drawing of a Gentleman in evening clothes crawling onto a fire-escape
through an open window. He has dropped his Heart, and it is two floors
below.

My narative has now come to a conclusion, and I will close with a few
reflections drawin from my own sad and tradgic Experience. I trust the
Girls of this School will ponder and reflect.

Deception is a very sad thing. It starts very easy, and without Warning,
and everything seems to be going all right, and No Rocks ahead. When
suddenly the Breakers loom up, and your frail Vessel sinks, with you on
board, and maybe your dear Ones, dragged down with you.

Oh, what a tangeled Web we wieve,
When first we practice to decieve.
Sir Walter Scott.

CHAPTER II

THEME: THE CELEBRITY

WE have been requested to write, during this vacation, a true and
varacious account of a meeting with any Celebrity we happened to meet
during the summer. If no Celebrity, any interesting character would do,
excepting one's own Familey.

But as one's own Familey is neither celebrated nor interesting, there is
no temptation to write about it.

As I met Mr. Reginald Be