they immigrate and become naturalized), they do not speak
the same language in the same way, and all accents, save perhaps a
brogue, are offensive to an ear tuned to nasal rhythms and to the rich
divergencies from the normal standards of their own tongue that
distinguish different sections of this vast United States of America.

But the American mind is, after all, an open mind. Such generalities
as, "The Frenchwomen are quite wonderful," "are doing marvelous things
for their country during this war," that floated across the expensive
cable now and again, made little or no impression on any but those who
already knew their France and could be surprised at no resource or
energy she might display; but Owen Johnson and several other men with
whom he talked, including that ardent friend of France, Whitney
Warren, felt positive that if some American woman writer with a
public, and who was capable through long practice in story writing, of
selecting and composing facts in conformance with the economic and
dramatic laws of fiction, would go over and study the work of the
Frenchwomen at first hand, and, discarding generalities, present
specific instances of their work and their attitude, the result could
not fail to give the intelligent American woman a different opinion of
her French sister and enlist her sympathy.

I had been ill or I should have gone to England soon after the
outbreak of the war and worked with my friends, for I have always
looked upon England as my second home, and I have as many friends
there as here. If it had not been for Mr. Johnson and Mr. Warren, no
doubt I should have gone to England within the next two or three
months. But their representations aroused my enthusiasm and I
determined to go to France first, at all events.

My original intention was to remain in France for a month, gathering
my material as quickly as possible, and then cross to England. It
seemed to me that if I wrote a book that might be of some service to
France I should do the same thing for a country to which I was not
only far more deeply attached but far more deeply indebted.

I remained three months and a third in France--from May 9th, 1916, to
August 19th--and I did not go to England for two reasons. I found that
it was more of an ordeal to get to London from Paris than to return to
New York and sail again; and I heard that Mrs. Ward was writing a book
about the women of England. For me to write another would be what is
som