ld
show. Oh! the judge was terribly saccharine after he warmed up, and I
adore him. Wish I had to get another divorce tomorrow--he's just like a
dear old Universal Dad, and everyone loves him.

Well! dear, just to think of it. I've lost my hobbies! Isn't it great,
and yet isn't it really sad! It means a failure in the greatest
undertaking of a woman's life, and it also means that I issue
forth--branded. I refuse to hold post mortems and am practising loss of
memory. Now for the possibilities of the future. Possibility is the
biggest word in the dictionary. Isn't it strange that a woman may live
apart from her husband and do atrocious things, without wearing the
tell-tale letter on her bosom, yet let a virtuous woman take the step
for freedom, and, alas! she carries the scar as long as she breathes.
But its worth it, dear. I have thought it all over and I repeat it a
thousand times, its worth it. "I have written it upon the doorposts of
my house and upon my gates, and I wear it as frontlets between mine
eyes"--it's worth it!

I have worn crepe for my departed virtues for six years, but I throw it
aside now and feel a new being whose glad unrestraint may carry her
farther than she intended, just as prudery often lends a woman greater
cruelty than she feels.

How clever of Don Willard to buy in Northern Pacific during the slump.
He gets on with his sense of smell--he's a jackal who scents a carcass
and gets there in time for a good bone.

While unpacking my trunk today I came across my wedding veil and it was
all gray and dingy like the end of my honeymoon. How many sweet and
tremulous illusions I folded into it on that first night and how soon
afterwards did three-fourths of the world look like ashes to me. Dreams
are harder to give up than realities, because they come back and gibe us
even after they are dead and buried, while tangible realities stay
fairly well hidden when we screw down the lid. I suppose you think that
I talk like Old Man Solomon, but you know that the only serious thoughts
I have are mushrooms of one minute's gestation.

My landlady does her own washing, so I asked her if she would do mine
for ample pay. She suffers so from modesty that she was hardly able to
answer me, but finally said: "I would be willing to, but my husband
don't improve on it." Poor creature, she has lived here all her days and
is still unable to direct me to a single place--her bump of location is
surely a dent.

Mrs. Judg