“You are not one to be easily happy. But that is no reason why you should say you pity anyone undertaking to pass through life at your side. Don’t let your thoughts and ideas allow you to miss happiness. Women are made to find and dispense happiness. Even intense women like yourself. But you won’t find it an easy matter to discover your mate. “Have you ever thought of committing your ideas to paper? There’s a book called ‘The Confessions of a Woman.’ It had a great sale and its composition occupied the authoress for only six weeks. You could write in your holidays. “Think over what I’ve told you, my dear, dear girl. And don’t forget old Bob Greville’s address. You’re eighteen. He’s only eight; eight Adam Street. The old Adam. Waiting to hear from the new Eve--whenever she’s unhappy.” He would be there again, old flatterer, with his steely blue eyes and that strong little Dr. Conelly--Conelly who held you like a vice and swung you round and kept putting you back from him to say things. “If only you knew the refreshment it is to dance with a girl who can talk sense and doesn’t _giggle_.... Yes yes yes, women are _physically_ incapable of keeping a secret.... Meredith, he’s the man. He understands woman as no other writer----” And the little dark man--De Vigne--who danced like a snake.... Tired? Divinely drowsy? That’s what I like. Don’t talk. Let yourself go. Little snail, Harriett called him. And that giant, Conelly’s friend, whirling you round the room like a gust, with his eyes fixed far away in the distance and dropping you with the chaperones at the end of the dance. If _he_ had suddenly said “Let yourself go” ... He too would have become a snail. God has made life ugly. Dear Mr. Greville, dear _Bob_. Do you know anything about a writer called Meredith? If you have one of his books I should like to read it. No. Dear Bob, I’m simply wretched. I want to talk to you. 5 Footsteps sounded on the stairs--the servants, coming upstairs to bed. No dancing for them. Work, caps and aprons. And those strange rooms upstairs to sleep in that nobody ever saw. Probably Miss Perne went up occasionally to look at them and see that they were all right; clean and tidy.... They had to go up every night, carrying little jugs of water and making no noise on the stairs, and come down every morning. They were the servants--and there would never be any dancing. Nobody thought about them.... They could not get away from each other, and cook....