. And immediately the storm broke.

Every old cat that I knew--and I knew some--began to give me advice.
Now, nobody takes advice better than I do, when I am conscious that I
need it and am sure that the advice is good. Of this I feel as sure as
if such an occasion had ever actually arrived. In an International
Sweet-nature Competition I would back myself for money every time.

I was told that in the dignified position which was to be mine I must
give up larking about and the use of wicked words when irritated. It
seemed to me that if I was to surrender all my accomplishments I might
just as well never marry Hector at all. I avoid a certain freedom of
speech which my great predecessor uses on a similar occasion.

Dear old Mr. Cashmere found me in almost a bad temper about it, and
listened gravely to my complaint. Placing one hand on my shoulder, he
said:

"Marge, I have lived long, and in the course of my life I have received
much advice. My invariable rule has always been to thank for it,
expressing my gratitude with some warmth and every appearance of
sincerity. This is all that the adviser requires. It gives him, or her,
complete satisfaction. It costs nothing. Afterwards, I proceed precisely
as if no advice had been given."

That freak, Millie Wyandotte, sent me a plated toast-rack and a letter
from which I extract the following:

"If you were half as extraordinary as you think you are, this
would be a miserable marriage. Anybody who married it would get
lost, bewildered, and annoyed, and the hymn for those at sea should
be sung at the wedding ceremony. But cheer up, old girl. Really
extraordinary people never think it worth while to prove that they
are extraordinary, and mostly would resent being told it. You'll
do. Psychologies like yours can be had from any respectable dealer
at a shilling a dozen, including the box. They wear very well and
give satisfaction. Here's luck."

Mr. J. A. Banting sent me a travelling-clock at one time the property of
Lord Baringstoke, and a letter of such fervent piety and tender
affection that it is too sacred for me to quote.

Fifty-eight rejected suitors combined to send me a hand-bag of no great
intrinsic value. I cannot but think that the principle of syndication is
more suited to business than to generosity.

But I will not weary the reader with a list of the numerous and costly
gifts that I received. Suffice it to say that