But now at last these cloistered days are o'er And woman, breaking down her prison door, Is free to take the middle of the floor. No more for her indomitable soul The meekly ministering angel _role_; No more the darner of her husband's socks, She takes delight in watching champions box, Finds respite from the carking cares that vex us In cheering blows that reach the solar plexus, Joins in the loud and patriotic shout While beaten BELL is being counted out, And--joy that makes all other joys seem nil-- Writes her impressions for _The Daily Thrill_. * * * * * ONCE UPON A TIME. THE SUSCEPTIBLE AMERICAN. Once upon a time there was a beautiful singer named Miss Iris Bewlay. Every now and then she gave a recital, and it was always crowded. She was chosen to sing "God save the King" at bazaars and Primrose League meetings; her rendering of "Home, Sweet Home" moistened every eye. Hostesses wishing to be really in the swim engaged her to sing during after-dinner conversation for enormous fees. When Miss Iris Bewlay was approaching the forties and adding every day to her wealth, another Miss Bewlay--not Iris, but Gladys, and no relation whatever--was gradually improving her gift of song with a well-known teacher, for it was Miss Gladys Bewlay's intention, with her parents' strong approval, to become a professional. She had not, it is true, her illustrious namesake's commanding presence or powerful register, but her voice was sweet and refined and she might easily have a future. It happened that a susceptible music-loving American staying in London for a short time was taken by some English friends to a concert at which Miss Iris Bewlay was singing, and he fell at once a victim to her tones. Never before had he heard a voice which so thrilled and moved him. He returned to his hotel enraptured, and awoke with but one desire and that was to hear Miss Bewlay again. "Say, where is a Miss Bewlay singing to-night?" he asked the hotel porter. The porter searched all the concert announcements, but found no mention of the great name. In the end he advised a visit to one of the ticket libraries, and off the enthusiast hurried. Now it happened that this very evening was the one chosen for the _debut_, before a number of invited friends, of Miss Gladys Bewlay, and one of the guests chanced to be at the ticket library at the moment the susceptible American entered and fired his question at the clerk. "Say, can you tell me where Miss Bewlay is singing to-night?" he said. The clerk having no information, the susceptible American was turning away when the guest of the other Bewlay family ventured to address him with the information that Miss Bewlay was singing that evening at a private gathering at one of the halls. "Couldn't I get in?" the American asked. "It's private," said the lady. "It's only for the friends of the family." "Let me take down the address, anyway," said he, and took it down.