Therefore:

11-11.15 A.M.--Breathing space.

11.15-11.45 A.M.--Paying bills--electricity, gas, clothes; checking
the weekly books, reading laundry circulars.

12 M.--Goes out. It is probably wet [this being England], so, not
being very well off, she flounders through mud. Interview with the
plumber as to the boiler; shoes for Gladys; glass for the
parlor-maid; brooms for the housemaid; forgets various things she
ought to have done; these worry her during lunch.

1.30 P.M.--Lunch.

2.30 P.M.--Fagged out, lies down, but--

2.45 P.M.--The husband telephones to tell her to go to the library
and get him a book.

3.15 P.M.--Is fitted by the dressmaker. Feels better.

4.30 P.M.--Charming at tea.

5.45 P.M.--Compulsory games with the children.

6.15 P.M.--Ultimatum from the servants: the puppy must be killed
for reasons which cannot be specified in an American magazine.

6.30-6.35 P.M.--Literature, art, music, and science. Then dress for
dinner.

7.30 P.M.--Charming at dinner. Grand fantasia to entertain the male
after a strenuous day in the city. Conversation: golf, business,
cutting remarks about other people, and _no contradicting_.

8.45-9.15 P.M.--Literature, art, music, and science.

Last post: Circulars, bills, invitations to be answered; request
from a brother in India to send jam which can be bought only in a
suburb fourteen miles distant.

10.30 P.M.--Attempted bath, but the plumber has not mended the
boiler, after all.

11 P.M.--Sleep ... up to the beginning of another nice
Englishwoman's day.

She may exaggerate, but I do not think so, for as I write these lines
three stories of a house hang over my head, and I hear culinary noises
below. Being a man, I am supposed to rule all this, but, fortunately,
not to govern it. And I am moved to interest when I reflect that in this
street of sixty houses, that which is going on in my house is probably
multiplied by sixty. I have a vision of those sixty houses, each with
its dining room and drawing-room, its four to eight bedrooms, and its
basement. There are sixty drawing-rooms in this street, and at 11 A.M.
there is not a single human being in them; and at 3 P.M. there is nobody
in the sixty dining rooms, except on Sunday, when a few men are asleep
in them. And I have horrid visions of our sixty kitchens