However, I do not call it being a good sport to see one's daughter
perfectly wreched and do nothing to help. And more than that, to
willfully permit one's child to suffer, and enjoy it.
But it was father, after all, who got the Jolt, I think, when he saw me
get out of the taxicab.
Therefore I will not explain, for a time. A little worry will not hurt
him either.
I will not send him his copy for a week.
Perhaps, after all, I will give him somthing to worry about eventually.
For I have recieved a box of roses, with no card, but a pen and ink
drawing of a Gentleman in evening clothes crawling onto a fire-escape
through an open window. He has dropped his Heart, and it is two floors
below.
My narative has now come to a conclusion, and I will close with a few
reflections drawin from my own sad and tradgic Experience. I trust the
Girls of this School will ponder and reflect.
Deception is a very sad thing. It starts very easy, and without Warning,
and everything seems to be going all right, and No Rocks ahead. When
suddenly the Breakers loom up, and your frail Vessel sinks, with you on
board, and maybe your dear Ones, dragged down with you.
Oh, what a tangeled Web we wieve,
When first we practice to decieve.
Sir Walter Scott.