"From Massachusetts, dear.... The blue-light elders got on my nerves. I wanted to study music, too, with a view to opera." She laughed unpleasantly. "Was your home life unhappy, dear?" "Does a girl leave happiness?" "You didn't run away, did you?" "I did--straight to the metropolis as a moth to its candle." Valerie waited, then, timidly: "Did you care to tell me any more, dear? I thought perhaps you might like me to ask you. It isn't curiosity." "I know it isn't--you blessed child! I'll tell you--some day--perhaps.... Pull the rope and set me swinging, please.... Isn't this sky delicious--glimpsed through the green leaves? Fancy you're not knowing the happiness of the country! I've always known it. Perhaps the trouble was I had too much of it. My town was an ancient, respectable, revolutionary relic set in a very beautiful rolling country near the sea; but I suppose I caught the infection--the country rolled, the breakers rolled, and finally I rolled out of it all--over and over plump into Gotham! And I didn't land on my feet, either.... You are correct, Valerie; there is something humorous about this world.... There's one of the jokes, now!" as a native passed, hunched up on the dashboard, driving a horse and a heifer in double harness. "Shall we go to the post office with him?" cried Valerie, jumping to her feet. [Illustration: "Valerie sat cross-legged on the grass ... scribbling away."] "Now, dear, what is the use of our going to the post office when nobody knows our address and we never could possibly expect a letter!" "That is true," said Valerie, pensively. "Rita, I'm beginning to think I'd like to have a letter. I believe--believe that I'll write to--to somebody." "That is more than I'll do," yawned Rita, closing her eyes. She opened them presently and said: "I've a nice little writing case in my trunk. Sam presented it. Bring it out here if you're going to write." The next time she unclosed her eyes Valerie sat cross-legged on the grass by the hammock, the writing case on her lap, scribbling away as though she really enjoyed it. The letter was to Neville. It ran on: "Rita is asleep in a hammock; she's too pretty for words. I love her. Why? Because she loves me, silly! "I'm a very responsive individual, Kelly, and a pat on the head elicits purrs. "I want you to write to me. Also, pray be flattered; you are the only person on earth who now has my address. I _may_ send it to José Querida; but that is none of your business. When I saw the new moon on the stump-pond last night I certainly did wish for Querida and a canoe. He can sing very charmingly. "Now I suppose you want to know under what circumstances I have permitted myself to wish for you. If you talk to a man about another man he always attempts to divert the conversation to himself. Yes, he does. And you are no better than other men, Louis--not exempt from their vanities and cunning little weaknesses. Are you?