Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this file which includes the original illustration. See 40316-h.htm or 40316-h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/40316/40316-h/40316-h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/40316/40316-h.zip) Images of the original pages are available through Internet Archive. See http://archive.org/details/atageofeve00shariala Transcriber's note: Inconsistent hyphenation and spelling in the original document have been preserved. Obvious typographical errors have been corrected. Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_). AT THE AGE OF EVE [Illustration: "I--I wondered who you were, too"] AT THE AGE OF EVE by KATE TRIMBLE SHARBER Author of The Annals of Ann With Illustrations by Paul Meylan Indianapolis The Bobbs-Merrill Company Publishers Copyright 1911 The Bobbs-Merrill Company Press of Braunworth & Co. Bookbinders and Printers Brooklyn, N. Y. TO ANN'S GOD-PARENTS LILLIAN BYRN HARRISON AND JOHN TROTWOOD MOORE CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE I ANN 1 II THE NEW NEIGHBORS 16 III THE BOOKWORM TURNS 35 IV A NEW GAME 49 V PRINCE CHARMING 67 VI NEVA'S BEAU BRUMMEL 97 VII ALFRED 123 VIII ALFRED COLLECTS A DEBT 136 IX A SHOPPING EXPEDITION 157 X ANN RECEIVES A CALLER 179 XI A DRAWN BATTLE 205 XII SHADOWS 225 XIII THANKSGIVING DAY 243 XIV SOPHIE'S STORY 262 XV THE DOUGLAS IN HIS HALL 287 XVI THE IDES OF MARCH 313 XVII MAY DAY 347 AT THE AGE OF EVE AT THE AGE OF EVE CHAPTER I ANN In beginning this record I find that it is no easy matter to feel at home with a clean, blank journal. The possibilities of these spotless pages seem to oppress me, and I am weighted down with the idea that my opening sentences ought to sound brilliant and promising. With this thought I have started three or four entries on scraps of paper lying here about my desk, but I find that not one of them is the kind of thing which would make you bend over close and knit your brows, thinking you had picked up Plato by mistake. No matter what lofty sentiments I have in my mind you can always hear the swish of petticoats through my paragraphs and I regret this, for all my life I have longed to write something that would sound like George Eliot. In the world of books she is my idol--my lady idol, I mean, for of course the dearest idols of all are the poets, and they are always men.