"She was always a particularly bright girl, with a good idea of what was going on in the world and a mind of her own about it. In one of her letters she said she had been going to a set of lectures by some confounded Englishwoman, on The Woman of To-morrow, or the Day after To-morrow, or something, and asked me what I thought about what she called Woman's Awakening. I dare say you remember how we used to argue all that stuff in our old Debating Club--didn't we just!--and how I always got sat upon for being a back number and not lining up with the hatchet brigade? Well, I hadn't changed my mind--haven't yet, for that matter--but I didn't suppose she cared two hairpins about it, and I replied with some old joke or other, and let it go. From other letters, though, I soon saw that Kitty had got really keen on the suffrage business, and that she knew I was a heretic: but we both had sense enough not to let the subject get on the argumentative line." "It ran on that way until two years ago, and then her people came to spend the winter in California. In the early spring they came up to Santa Barbara, and I saw Kitty again. I hadn't weakened at all in my loving her, and she was prettier than ever--almost as pretty as she is now, bless her.--Yes, I knew you'd think so, old man.--By that time I was doing quite well, and prospects were good enough so that I felt I could ask her to marry me. One day, on a drive round by Montecito, I asked her. She wouldn't promise: said she liked me as much as ever, and didn't care about any one else, but didn't think she ought to marry me, and so on. I couldn't get her to say why for a long time, but at last it came out. Some one, that idiotic Englishwoman, I suppose, had put it into the dear girl's head that it was her duty not to ally herself with 'a reactionary' (I think that was the word) and in this case that meant poor harmless me. I argued till I must have been blue in the face, but I couldn't get her to give in: she says now that she thought she would make me give in. And so it had to stay, but my consolation was that I knew she really cared for me. It was just head against heart, and though I knew, as I said, that Kitty's head was as good as anybody's, I thought her heart was better yet. I told her, though, that I shouldn't let it rest like that for long." "A day or two later I had an engagement to go up with them to look at the Mission. One of the Fathers showed us through, a dozen or more people altogether, regular tourist style, and we had seen about everything there was, when some one asked if we couldn't go into the sacred garden. You know what I mean? There's a private garden that most people don't get to see, and which, as the story goes, no woman is allowed to enter. The priest said he was sorry, but it was only by special permission that any visitor saw that garden and that permission was never given for ladies to see it. Kitty pricked up her ears at that."