Some find a middle course, it seems, for yesterday this
conversation was overheard on the steps of the American Church:
FIRST AMERICAN LADY: "Are you going to stop for the sermon?"
SECOND AMERICAN LADY: "I am so sorry I can't, but the races begin
at one!"
CHAPTER 20 - "The Treadmill."
A HALF-HUMOROUS, half-pathetic epistle has been sent to me by a
woman, who explains in it her particular perplexity. Such letters
are the windfalls of our profession! For what is more attractive
than to have a woman take you for her lay confessor, to whom she
comes for advice in trouble? opening her innocent heart for your
inspection!
My correspondent complains that her days are not sufficiently long,
nor is her strength great enough, for the thousand and one duties
and obligations imposed upon her. "If," she says, "a woman has
friends and a small place in the world - and who has not in these
days? - she must golf or 'bike' or skate a bit, of a morning; then
she is apt to lunch out, or have a friend or two in, to that meal.
After luncheon there is sure to be a 'class' of some kind that she
has foolishly joined, or a charity meeting, matinee, or reception;
but above all, there are her 'duty' calls. She must be home at
five to make tea, that she has promised her men friends, and they
will not leave until it is time for her to dress for dinner, 'out'
or at home, with often the opera, a supper, or a ball to follow.
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