laugh until you struck the grass and then you'd be arrested for
disturbing the peace. Well--don't worry. I'm not an old ass. But I'm
a terribly bewildered old woman. It seems to me there has been a
crashing in the air ever since she sat in that chair. . . . Growing
old always seemed to me a natural process that no arts or dodges could
interrupt, and any attempt to arrest the processes of nature was an
irreverent gesture in the face of Almighty God. It was immoral and
irreverent, and above all it showed a lack of humor and of sound common
sense. The world, my candid grandchild tells me, laughs at the women
of my generation for their old-fashioned 'cut.' But we have our code
and we have the courage to live up to it. That is one reason, perhaps,
why growing old has never meant anything to me but reading-spectacles,
two false teeth, and weak ankles. It had seemed to me that my life had
been pretty full--I never had much imagination--what with being as good
a wife as ever lived--although James was a pompous bore if there ever
was one--bringing eight children into the world and not making a
failure of one of them, never neglecting my charities or my social
duties or my establishments. As I have grown older I have often
reflected upon a life well-spent, and looked forward to dying when my
time came with no qualms whatever, particularly as there was precious
little left for me to do except give parties for my grandchildren and
blow them up occasionally. I never labored under the delusion that I
had an angelic disposition or a perfect character, but I had always
had, and maintained, certain standards; and, according to my lights, it
seemed to me that when I arrived at the foot of the throne the Lord
would say to me 'Well done, thou good and faithful servant.' The only
thing I ever regretted was that I wasn't a man."

She paused and then went on in a voice that grew more raucous every
moment. "That was later. It's a long time since I've admitted even to
myself that there was a period--after my husband's death--when I hated
growing old with the best of them. I was fifty and I found myself with
complete liberty for the first time in my life; for the elder children
were all married, and the younger in Europe at school. I had already
begun to look upon myself as an old woman. . . . But I soon made the
terrible discovery that the heart never grows old. I fell in love four
times. They were all years younger than my