Two people may be in harmony today, and both have pink auras, and in a year hers may be green and his golden. What desperate chances a woman takes when she marries, doesn't she? I sometimes think life must have been a much more comfortable thing before the world got to be so terribly advanced. But, of course, it is our duty to sacrifice personal comfort for the future of the race and the betterment of the world. As I was looking at the bread line the thought came to me that the chief difference between this advanced age and other ages was in the fact that people today are willing to take a serious interest in such things. People are willing to sacrifice themselves today, you know. It is food for optimism, don't you think? Not that I was really so uncomfortable in the auto, you know. I had on my new mink coat. HERMIONE TAKES UP LITERATURE We've been going in for Astrological Research lately -- our Little Group of Modern Thinkers, you know -- and we've picked our own personal stars. Only it seems such a shame, doesn't it, that one isn't allowed to CHANGE stars? Keeping the same star all your life is rather monotonous, don't you think? Though, of course, if one changed and got some- one else's star things might be frightfully complicated, mightn't they? But it would make a charming little story, wouldn't it, for a girl to change stars, you know, and find that her new star belonged to some quite nice young man, and, of course, after that, their destinies would be one. I get some of the most ORIGINAL plots for stories! Fothergil Finch has often said to me that that is one difference between genius and talent. When you have genius, you know, things like that just come to you; but if you only have talent you must work and WORK for them. "If I only hd your spontaneity, Hermione!" Fothergil often says. And really, it's never been any trouble for me at all to dash off an idea, though of course they would have to be touched up by the editors a little before they could be printed. Fothergil said the other night I should try poetry. "Why, Fothy," I said, "if I lived a hundred years I never could make two lines rhyme with each other!" But he said Rhyme was out of fashion anyhow, and -- would you believe it? -- while we were talking I got an idea for a poem and just dashed it off then and there -- a vers libre poem you know, and it goes: What becomes of People when they die? I used to ask when I was a little child, And now even since I am grown up I am not sure that I know! "Fothy," I said, "It was so easy -- that makes me afraid it isn't really good!" "Ah," he said, "that modesty PROVES you are a genius! Heavens, what would I not give to have you spontaneity, your modesty, your spontaneity --" But I interrupted him. Another idea had come to me -- just like that, and -- would you believe it? I dashed off another one, right then and there! It went: